


Hell is Furnished

by DarkTidings



Series: If You're Going Through Hell [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 03, Beth Greene Lives, F/M, Mental Instability, POV Daryl Dixon, Past Child Abuse, Protective Daryl Dixon, Sophia Peletier Lives, Survival Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24664924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings
Summary: Hell isn't merely paved with good intentions; it's walled and roofed with them. Yes, and furnished too. - Aldous HuxleyDaryl's ongoing search for Sophia leads him down lonely roads and the lesson he doesn't have to follow any man's lead.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Series: If You're Going Through Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783144
Comments: 357
Kudos: 165





	1. Instinct

** August 25, 2010 **

Daryl stomps the mud off his boots on the concrete steps of the house they’re squatting in tonight. The day’s haul is better than usual, like it always is on days Rick’s willing to stay put for a few days so he can hunt and Glenn and Maggie can scavenge.

“I can take those.”

Carol’s soft voice causes him to look up from his battered footwear and he sighs. He only thought the woman looked like a skinny shadow back at the quarry. Nowadays, she’s closer to a damned ghost.

But he grunts a non-committal answer and hands over the string of squirrels and the game bag with two rabbits. It’ll feed the group well for the night, although they can’t keep much overnight for the simple reason they have no way to keep it cool in the blistering late August heat.

“Got some veggies too,” he mutters. “Crossed a grown over farm when I was hunting. That’s how I got the rabbits.”

Little shits are thriving on the abandoned gardens. But he salvaged two cabbages, six zucchini, four pears, and half his backpack full of crowder peas that Carol should be able to work some magic with. That’s along with the two or three meals worth of mushrooms he picked up about a half mile from getting back here.

“Glenn and Maggie got a decent enough haul clearing the neighborhood. Enough to feed us for four or five days without rationing.”

Calling this place a neighborhood is a generous statement. Daryl thinks it’s more likely a cluster of related folks who built together; just enough houses to merit a county road designation instead of just a longer than usual driveway. But the house they’re sleeping in has a sturdy chain link fence surrounding it for the dog that once lived here, so it makes it a good base for a few days.

When Carol doesn’t hurry off to clean what he brought for supper, he knows she’s waiting for his other report. He can’t meet her eyes, to see the hope fade another day when he’s turned up nothing. Her daughter's been missing for twenty-six days, and it's been twelve days since the farm fell.

“No sign today.”

She makes a little distraught sound that she smothers as quickly as she makes it. “At least you’re still looking.”

There’s enough bite in her reply to make him look up, brows furrowed. “No one else went out today?”

“You know they think she’s dead, Daryl. You and Glenn are the only ones who think there might be a chance anymore, and I think Glenn only believes because he doesn’t want to think about another child walker out there.”

“So they sat around on their fat asses and did nothing all day?” It pisses him off. If they don’t understand, like he does, that kids like him and Sophia can survive all sorts of shit that a pampered kid like Carl never would, that’s their choice. But looking for the girl isn’t the only reason they need to be searching the area.

Carol shrugs. “Beth and I did the laundry and Carl actually helped. T-Dog gathered wood.”

“And the others?” Like their illustrious self-declared dictator and his skinny ass wife who shouldn’t be this much deadweight with her pregnancy barely showing. Hell, a woman back home that laid around like she does without an actual medical excuse would find her ass chucked out to sponge off someone else pretty fast.

“Lori had a real problem with the heat today. Not drinking enough to keep up with the nausea. Hershel was pretty alarmed, so he’s been sitting with her and making her take in fluids gradually all day.”

Daryl feels a little guilty for his darker thoughts since it really is a medical issue this time. “What’s he need for her?”

“Medical supplies, really. If he could do an IV, then it wouldn’t matter if the nausea makes her vomit.”

“This place got a phone book?”

“Yeah. On the desk in the kitchen where they paid their bills.” She takes the backpack too when he passes it to her, but doesn’t follow.

He ignores the greeting from Rick, not caring much about dealing with a man who sat on his ass all day fretting over a sick wife instead of doing something about it.

The phone book is where Carol said it would be, a tiny thing compared to the big tomes of his childhood. Doesn’t surprise him that a place like this would keep a physical book around. Electricity goes out, but phones still work, and sometimes you need a number you didn’t think you would.

Thumbing through the yellow pages, he rips out the page for the nearest doctor offices, and just for good measure, the damned veterinary page too. He remembers Merle preaching the benefits of a vet office having much the same good drugs to target as a doctor’s office.

Resource gathered, he searches the drawers until he finds an old map. There’s probably one in the abandoned Chevy truck outside, but people just don’t throw shit away. He shoves everything in a pocket on his dirty pants as Carol passes him to empty his backpack on the counter. He snatches a floral themed notepad and pen off the desk.

“Are you going back out?” she asks.

“Might as well. There’s still at least four hours of daylight left. Can make it to town and scavenge. Be back by dark.”

She doesn’t argue it. It’s one thing he does like about her, even if it’s more of a habit from placating Ed Peletier than one where she really doesn’t want to speak an opinion. Instead, she takes the empty water bottles from his pack and refills them carefully from a kettle of boiled water.One of the better reasons for resting up at this house was the hand pump installed at the well house.

“You eaten anything today?” she asks.

“Coupla tomatoes back at the garden and a pear.” The tomatoes wouldn’t have survived transporting, and there were only two that survived the birds and bugs this long.

“I’ll save you some supper then.”

“Make sure it’s my share and not yours, woman.”

The guilty look he catches tells him he’s right in suspecting that she’s gone without to feed others.

“Carol. Look at me.”

She meets his eyes, getting better with it as time goes by. 

“These assholes gonna starve to death without you looking after them unless there’s a tin can in front of them and a can opener. That means you take care of yourself, too.” Maggie and Beth are farm girls, but it became obvious real quick that neither girl did any real cooking back home. Probably left it to their mama and Patricia.

Some of that uncoiling spirit he likes shows when she not only smiles, but smirks at him. “Long as you agree to do the same.”

“A’right.” If it takes him eating more where she can see it, he’ll do it. He intends to return that little girl to her mama, but that means making sure her mama’s still around, too.

Daryl steps into the living room, where Hershel’s in an armchair near where Lori Grimes is laid up on the couch. They’ve at least got the windows open to try to get a good crossbreeze for the sickly woman.

“Hershel.” He waits for the old farmer to look up and hands him the notepad and pen. “Give me a list of what you need. Gonna make a run into town.”

“You should take someone along, Daryl. The woods are one thing, compared to populations that may still be around a town.”

“I’ll be just fine without someone slowing me down.” About the only one he thinks he would trust right now is Glenn, and taking the bike, he just doesn’t want the kid that close to him. 

Kid’s a wily little shit, but he’s best left here anyway. Something or someone comes at the house that endangers Maggie and her sister, he thinks Glenn’s less likely to hesitate than Rick. No government trained do-gooder thinking to unravel.

Hershel hands him the list he requested. “Nearest town doesn’t have a pharmacy that I know of, but between the doctor’s office in town and the fire station south of town, you might find it.”

“Got the veterinary list too.”

The vet nods. “That might be even better than the doctor’s office for saline bags. Average doctor’s office doesn’t run as many IVs as a vet or paramedic will.”

“I’ll be back by dark.”

“Daryl, thank you.”

He only acknowledges Rick with a non-committal grunt. Man should have thought of this shit himself.

Outside, the sun’s still bright and fucking hot, making the leather of the Triumph’s seats scorch even through the thick fabric of his pants. 

“Daryl, wait up a minute.” Glenn comes running, carrying a big Army surplus style duffel bag. “Thought you might use this instead of just the backpack.”

“Smart.” Daryl takes the bag and straps it to the seat behind him before turning back to Glenn. “You find any guns or ammo in those other houses?”

Daryl knows they found two hunting rifles and ammo in this one, but the ammo levels are the sort of minimum a man keeps around just for sport hunting.

“Yeah. About the same in each house. Couple of rifles, a shotgun, and about six boxes of ammo between them.”

They would happen upon a place where no one really got into their guns, he thinks, but he nods at Glenn. “You and T-Dog, you keep a close eye out while I’m gone. Maggie too. Anyone approaches who ain’t me, you might want to shoot and ask questions later.”

“That sounds a lot like Shane’s way of thinking, Daryl.”

“You didn’t have to listen to what that boy said his crew does to women. Little girls, Glenn.”

The Korean looks sickened, and he looks nervously back toward the house. “Rick ain’t gonna like that policy.”

“Rick ain’t God Almighty himself, now is he? That line of bullshit he fed us about killing Shane to protect us is exactly that. If you believe it, that’s on you. You gonna be a man, with a woman and a kid to protect? You gotta do the job.”

Daryl taps his hand idly against his dirty pants, wishing he had more packed and hadn’t lost most of his things in the scramble off the farm. 

Glenn looks to where Beth is carefully taking clothes off the line with Maggie’s help and something seems to click for him. “Maggie can fight for herself, but Beth can’t, and Hershel still doesn’t really understand, does he?”

“He’s getting there.” The old man will probably come to terms with it faster than Rick is. Man’s obsessed with his pregnant wife right now on a level that astonishes Daryl, considering how little he seemed to spend with her after his return. The couple’s mutual distaste for each other is almost an entire independent entity in the group.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s getting dark enough that he needs the damned headlight when Daryl returns. But his scavenging trip was a fruitful one. That military duffel Glenn gave him is stuffed solid with medical supplies between the fire station, the vet office, and the impulse Daryl had to check the driveway labeled as a horse trainer’s farm.

Used to, poor people rode horses and only the rich could afford automobiles. Nowadays, that’s reversed, so his gamble that a place with expensive equines boarded would have plenty of vet supplies on hand paid off. 

“Daryl?”

T-Dog calls out from just out of sight. Good. He ain’t the only one with access to a motorcycle out here.

“It’s me. Give me a hand with this shit?”

The bulky man trots into view and takes the duffel as soon as Daryl unstraps it from where it’s riding as a mock passenger. “This all medical?” he asks, sounding impressed.

“Yeah. Don’t tell the lady that needs it that it’s almost all from the animal places, not the human.”

T-Dog smothers a laugh. “I most certainly won’t volunteer that. What else you got there?”

Daryl undoes the bungee cords that kept his backpack on the gas tank of the bike. “Eggs. One of the places had a pond with a bunch of ducks. Raided their nests on the shore.”

Sixteen big duck eggs is a huge addition to their protein stash, and they’ll keep longer than the meat.

“Hard to picture birds surviving out there.” 

T-Dog shoulders the bag and leads the way to the porch, while Daryl handles the backpack carefully. He packed the eggs in a bunch of straw, but he doesn’t want to break the damn things this close to his goal.

“Walkers can’t swim. Ducks can.” It’s as simple as that. Chickens and domestic turkeys are more vulnerable, because not all breeds can fly enough to get higher than the undead can reach. But Daryl’s heard the screeches of guineas in the trees and figures there’s probably other escaped poultry taking refuge in the forested areas.

“Makes sense.” T-Dog swings the door open for Daryl.

“Give that bag to Hershel. Tell him that one med he wanted is on the top of what I packed in.”

While the other man delivers the supplies, Daryl eases into the kitchen during the distraction to slide his backpack on the counter. Carol opens the useless microwave to pop out a foil-covered plate of food. 

When he arches a brow at that, she shrugs. “Best place to make sure no bugs find it.”

He laughs at that, realizing she’s right. “Gotcha a present.” He holds out one of the big eggs and she takes it with all the reverence of a woman with a diamond ring in those dumbass Zales commercials.

“Not a chicken egg,” she says, cradling it in her hands. It’s a dark brown egg, damn near black, and about twice the size of the bigger chicken eggs.

“Duck. Need to candle it on the light to make sure it’s not growing a duckling inside and float it to make sure it’s still good. But I got you fifteen more in the pack.” He didn’t see a drake among the ducks on the pond, but it doesn’t mean one just wasn’t in sight at the time.

“That’s amazing. Thank you.”

He doesn’t flinch away from the kiss she brushes across his cheek. By now, he’s just learned to accept that Carol’s an affectionate person, and without her daughter here to spoil, she needs an outlet. He can handle that, until he returns that girl to her.

“Try boiling one up for Olive Oyl. Seen women be able to eat boiled eggs even when they were puking their guts up before.”

“Worth a try.” She holds a flashlight to the egg he handed her and grins. “No baby duck.”

Daryl eats his dinner as she tests the egg to see if it floats or sinks, and when it proves good, sets it to boil on the stove after lighting it with a match.

“Did you find the medicines?”

He finishes chewing the bite of cabbage and nods. “I was right that no one would think to clear out the vet office. Should be good now to get her settled down til the heat passes.”

“It could be more than the heat,” Carol says, looking concerned as she checks the time on her little wristwatch.

“Like what?” He’s had a girlfriend or two with a kid, but no real time spent around a woman actually pregnant.

“Some women have worse than morning sickness. I don’t remember the name, but it can get really bad. Like hospital and feeding tube bad.”

Fuck. That’s an entirely different level of weird pregnancy shit to deal with. “Can Hershel fix it?”

“He can try. But we might want to try to plan on staying in one place until we know for sure. There’s more medical places you can try, right?”

“Yeah. Up at Newnan and Peachtree City both.” He pats his pocket. He only hit the places with Sharpsburg addresses today, without enough daylight to push into bigger towns where he doesn’t know the layout. “Gonna ask Maggie what she knows of them.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Carol looks a little pensive and smiles sadly at him. “If you have to stop looking for Sophia, I understand.”

“Ain’t no reason to stop. I survived nine days in the woods by myself when I was younger than her. Just look more in the towns than the woods for a bit.”

“That might make even more sense, anyway. If she survived and just kept walking, she would feel safer in a town, right?”

Daryl shrugs. “You know her better than I do.”

Carol checks her watch again and bites at the inside of her mouth. “Yeah, I think she would aim for a town. Find a road and walk in.”

He scoops the last bite of the food into his mouth, letting her take the plate and fork. “Gonna go wash up out at the well house.”

“Oh, Daryl, wait a second.”

He pauses at the backdoor as she hands him a stack of clothes. 

“Maggie found some work clothes at one of the other houses she thought might fit you.”

Flipping through the pile, he nods. Pants are heavy weight, a brand he knows most companies use for uniform pants, although they don’t have the extra pockets he prefers. But he thinks he might wear goddamned yoga pants to get out of these pants at the moment. The shirt’s a button up, also the heavier fabric of a work shirt, complete with name patch.

“Tell her thank you, even if I don’t look like a Roger.”

Carol giggles behind him as the screen door slams shut.

The search for Sophia is a little more complicated now, but he’ll get it finished. Why he’s so sure the girl is alive, he can’t explain. It’s the same instinct, deep in his gut, that tells him his brother’s out there too.

He’s just got to find them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have all inspired me to a companion story to _Hell is Yourself_. It'll run behind the other story and will eventually end when Daryl's journey leads him to his brother and Sophia. Whether that will be Daryl alone, or with any companions, everyone will just have to wait and see. ;-)
> 
> This Daryl isn't the show's Daryl. With Sophia potentially still alive, it's like Merle quotes in Chapter 16 of the other story: Daryl will keep looking until he finds Sophia, an undead Sophia, or he dies trying.
> 
> The show makes no sense for how they cover the time between Season Two and Three. Even explaining some of Rick's decision making as PTSD (and the poor man's got a Godzilla sized helping of it), it doesn't explain why the other adults go along with decisions that lead them to nearly starving and freezing to death in a vastly agricultural state and a warmer climate to the south within easy reach.
> 
> This is one of my spins on why things might not go quite as methodically logical as they should (and how there's no way in hell they could starve, at least before winter especially.)
> 
> Geographically, Daryl's sadly close to where Shane and Sophia found the peanut farm... but other needs are going to push him in the wrong direction. The town/area he searched was Sharpsburg and Turin, and Sophia and Shane entered the highway just miles to the south and kept going south.


	2. Knife's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl moves the group to a safer property and brings Carol into confidence about Rick's mental stability.

**September 1, 2010**

Daryl ignores the stares as he finishes filling the propane tank at the newest place they're taking over. When he saw Rick getting restless, he used part of the supply runs for Lori as an excuse to find a step up from what they currently had. Here, he can manage more stability for Hershel to maybe finally stabilize Lori's condition.

Whatever impulse led him down the winding driveway better deemed a trail he can only attribute to a guardian angel. Sturdy, six-foot-tall fencing surrounds a house big enough for four bedrooms, and the workshop garage has an unfinshed loft he immediately staked out for himself. The single fuel generator probably seemed a great idea for the homeowner when propane could be delivered.

Instead, Daryl cleared out the body of the man who opted out when his supplies ran out. He was at least courteous enough to blow his brains out in the workshop, so there's no mess for Carol to worry about. 

There were no bodies to match the photos of a woman and two daughters, but the girls look college aged so might not have been home at all when the world went to hell.

Even after filling the tank, there's still probably two thousand gallons of propane on the truck. If he can just get Rick to agree to stay put, that's more than enough to survive the winter.

He parks the truck out by the workshop and snags the window air conditioning unit out of the passenger seat. Glenn's nimble fingers accessed the little shack deemed an office on the propane lot and, voila, one window unit to help settle Lori somewhere out of the heat and humidity.

"You know how to set one of these up?" he asks T-Dog.

The man nods and takes the single room unit. "Lots of older houses where I lived didn't have central air."

"Stick it in a window in that master by the garage while I get the generator back online."

Rick rouses from where he's watching Lori sleep in the backseat of a still-running car. "House doesn't have A/C?"

"Has it, but it's not on the generator and I don't know enough to reroute it. Not to mention we would burn through propane like crazy. Window unit will give her some relief."

Rick follows him as he checks the generator over one last time before reconnecting it to the house's power system. Through the open window, he yells for Maggie to flip the breakers.

"Hallelujah!" she yells. Daryl hears a fan buzz to life inside the room and looks to see one of those oscillating things slowly beginning to turn.

"It works?" Rick sounds near tears.

Daryl's watched the man unravel in the last week. The sicker Lori gets, the less whatever festering anger Rick harbors is on display. Now, he's just a mess of anxiety, but at least it means Daryl's seeing less of the dictator asshole and more actual worried husband. He hopes it holds, but he doesn't trust it to.

"Sounds like. We need to go easy on it where we can. Lights, kitchen appliances, fans for those who can tolerate heat, and the well pump. Might look for another window unit for Hershel if he wants one, but everyone else is young enough to go without."

"We can do that. Thank you, man."

The hand on Daryl's shoulder is trembling and he steels himself not to shrug it off.

"Ain't gonna sit by when I can do something."

He can't offer Hershel a hospital and people doctors, but he can at least give the old vet some breathing room to treat Lori. The darker part of his mind thinks it might be a blessing, if she did miscarry. But Hershel thinks it's likely to kill her if she does, because she doesn't have the reserves to survive that level of trauma right now.

Daryl just hopes for that kid's sake that Rick Grimes is a better man than his own father was. Will Dixon spent two decades convinced Daryl wasn't his and left the evidence of his distrust permanently etched on his son's skin.

The couple can swear paternity is Rick all they like, but come late winter, Little Shane is going to make an appearance and prove them otherwise. Daryl may not be an obstetrician, but he damn well knows you don't pee on a stick a week after your husband returns from the dead and have it be his child.

"You think this place can hold secure?"

"Yeah." Daryl points to the nearest section of fence around the five-acre property. "Owner was a prison guard. Kept his perimeter secure. Everything is reinforced."

"What does him being a guard matter?"

"Any guard working the prisons long becomes a paranoid bastard about security. Worries about maybe being followed home by a pissed off relative or parolee." He buried two massive Cane Corsos along with their owner. Man was paranoid.

He can see the question of Daryl's familiarity with prison guard personalities flicker behind Rick's eyes, but to the ex-deputy's credit, he doesn't ask it. He's been tarred with that brush by virtue of his last name his whole life. Man gets used to it after the first twenty years.

"Alright. So now we build supplies and wait?"

"We do." Away from the others, it seems Rick's not ashamed to let him make the decisions. Or maybe he's just that far gone.

Hershel calls Rick away and Daryl watches as Maggie and Carol start to unload the vehicles of what supplies he, Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog skimmed as they worked their way around fire stations and veterinary offices the past week.

He reminds himself to get an inventory count from Carol and strides over to where his brother's motorcycle is parked next to the workshop. Even with scavenged clothes, all his belongings fit in the canvas backpack he's been using when he hunts. He climbs the stairs to the loft area and tosses his bedroll and the backpack down in a corner.

It's hot up here, but at night, the breeze will cool it off well enough. Eventually, he'll have to give in and sleep in the house as winter rolls in, but for now, he's going to enjoy some privacy after over two weeks crammed in with the others.

Maybe he'll actually manage some decent sleep tonight.

He ought to go help unload, but he figures they can shoulder the work for now. He's hot and sticky from the propane run he made with Glenn. If the Korean wants to help unload, that's his business.

He sits with his legs over the ledge for what would be the hayloft opening if the building were the barn it was designed to be instead of a hobby mechanics shop. Fumbling for his cigarettes, he lights one, watching the others slowly empty the cars.

It doesn't take long, and he's just starting to make a bet with himself on who will chase him down first - Carol, Glenn, or Carl - when the question is answered.

Carol steps out to the back porch, which is an immense screened room running the entire length of the back of the house. He knows it's her even through the visual distortion of the screen because neither Maggie or Beth move quite the same way.

Even with Ed Peletier dead and rotting, Carol still carries herself like she suspects a blow will come around most of the group. He's not sure what it says about her that he's the only one who's really shouted at her, yet around him, none of the tension exists.

She opens the back door and spots his perch. He finishes the cigarette, stubbing it out as she crosses over and disappears in search of the stairs.

"Why does it not surprise me that you're somewhere up high like this?" she says, sitting down beside him. She gives him space, like she always does.

"Good place to keep an eye out."

"This gonna be the new watch tower or your new bedroom?" She glances toward his bedroll.

"Gonna sleep up here, while I can. Got a deer stand in the back of the shop I'm gonna rig up for keeping watch."

"I told them as much, when Maggie started fretting over the bedrooms."

"Four bedrooms and they're debating?"

Carol laughs. "Only so much as it keeps ending with someone the odd one out, even sharing. I settled part of the debate by claiming that hammock on the back porch for myself."

Personally, he wishes she would have claimed one of the bedrooms, but he suspects Maggie and Glenn want the only one other than the master with a full sized bed. The remaining two are distinctly decorated to house the daughters of the former owner.

Daryl suspects Carol would sooner sleep in the empty dog kennels than a room that echoes of other lost children.

"How did the rest play out?"

"Well, Carl's claimed space with his mother and with his ongoing antagonistic attitude toward his father, Rick claimed the hideabed in the living room. Hershel and Beth are taking the room with the twin beds and T-Dog the one with the bunkbed."

Daryl doubts Carl's unwillingness to leave Rick alone with his mother has anything to do with taking advantage of the A/C. He hasn't forgotten that the night the farm fell, Carl was missing and turned up with his daddy.

"Do me a favor, Carol?"

"Sure."

"Keep an eye on Carl and Lori. Kid's worried about more than his mama being sick."

That startles Carol and she stares at him, eyes wide. "Surely you don't think Rick would hurt Lori."

"I'm saying that the boy saw something the night Shane died that scared the hell out of him where his daddy is concerned. Something ain't right about that story, and it's been bugging me since. Rick wouldn't be the first man to off his wife after she strayed."

Carol swallows visibly. "And the evidence just keeps growing right in front of him. Jesus Christ."

"Exactly." The thought makes Daryl crave another cigarette, so he lights up. He isn't surprised when Carol motions toward his pack. He pushes the pack and lighter her way.

"Should we say something to Hershel?"

"Old man knows. He watches Rick like a he's a dog he's waiting to go rabid. He's just polite about it."

Other than bedtime, when Carl sleeps back to back with Lori like a half-pint sentry, the vet hasn't let the woman out of his sight for anything other than bathroom needs for longer than even Daryl's been wary of her safety.

He wonders if half of Lori Grimes' illness is just her own realization of the potential danger. He doesn't like the bitchy, finicky woman one bit, but he can't deny she's smart. Whatever Carl knows about Shane's death, she suspects. 

"What do we do about him, if he's unstable?"

"Same damn thing we did about Shane. Watch him and see if he gets better."

"And if he doesn't? If he tries to hurt her or the baby?"

Daryl takes a long drag on the cigarette, watching the cherry flare red. "Same thing he did when Shane got too far gone. Can't save a dog gone rabid, Carol. You know that."

She's crying, silently, even as she raises her own cigarette to her mouth. He hates that he made her cry, but out of everyone here not already alert, she's best equipped to understand.

Carol swipes at the tears. "I need you to teach me. If I knew more than just being a housewife, I could have gone into those woods after my daughter, and she wouldn't be lost. And now this. I need to know more."

"Weapons?" Teaching her to shoot is easy enough, and she already knows her way around a knife. Just a matter of turning it from culinary to defense.

"Everything. Hunting, mechanics, whatever you think I should know. But yeah, definitely weapons."

"Can do that. Should probably include Beth and Carl in lessons. Kids adapt faster anyway."

And he would rather teach them than the other adults, even Glenn, who is in that vague area of young adulthood where Daryl still finds him more boy than man and therefore tolerable.

"I'll convince Hershel about Beth. And no one watches Carl even nominally anymore."

That's what really twigged Daryl to the depths of the problem with Rick. Before, neither parent was terribly observant of the boy's whereabouts, but they both made occasional efforts. But now? Lori's too sick to notice, and Rick's obsessed with his wife and her growing belly instead of his actual son's health and safety.

Daryl isn't entirely sure anyone's given that kid any regular parental oversight since his daddy pulled a Lazarus and toppled Shane from his guardianship post. Now that the other deputy went apeshit and got himself offed, Carl's on his own, it seems.

"We'll start in the morning, when it's cooler. Gonna head down to the pond to see if the receipts I found in the house about him stocking it can offer us some dinner."

"Want some company?"

He finishes his cigarette and pockets the filter after stubbing it out. "Yeah. You know how to bait a hook?"

It gets him that impish smile. "That is one skill I do have for the outdoors. Used to fish my Papaw's pond as a kid. Always wanted to teach Sophia, but it never worked out."

"Gonna find her, Carol. Haven't stopped looking."

"I know. And now you'll have fewer distractions, if we can stay hidden here."

He offers her a hand once he's on his feet.

Later, he leans against the kitchen sink, eating his supper of foil grilled striped bass straight from the packet with a fork. No sense adding to the dishes Carol and Beth will end up washing. 

The fishing trip brought back plenty for full bellies for all, especially when Carol added the vegetables that Glenn and Maggie fetched from a garden up near where they turned to reach this place. The squash and bell peppers are as tasty as the fish.

After finally sharing his concerns with Carol, he's breathing a little easier. Hershel's too Christian to be proactive. Whatever raggedy past the man alludes to means he'll cling harder to the idea of salvation rather than intervention.

Now he studies the others. 

T-Dog is as amiable as always, adapting as he has to. Would he stop Rick if he snaps? Yeah, even if he died doing it. But Daryl's not yet ready to trust he will accept that there's a problem.

Glenn's too damned sweet natured still. He's got a better idea of the world than Beth, but the same impulse that led him to save the man who nearly got his group killed is still what will happen. Glenn still trusts people to be good.

Maggie. The farm girl is pragmatic and able to keep close counsel, as evidenced by her killing walkers when on her own, but tolerating her father's delusions and not betraying him to the newcomers. She might just prove as steady as Carol if directed to keep watch.

He finishes his food and crumples the foil into the trash. Scratching at his overgrowth of beard gone scraggly, he decides now is the time to sneak in a shower. Everyone else has managed a shower except him and Carol, based on their fresh clothing.

His pack is near the armchair now occupied by Lori as she gamely tries to eat the toddler sized serving on her plate. When he stoops to snag the strap of his pack, he feels the brush of fingers against the hammer loop on his carpenter pants. It's hesitant and nothing he can't break away from easily.

Once he looks down at her, Lori smiles faintly. She's lost weight she can't spare, and it makes the bone structure of her face stand out almost painfully. Her brown eyes, always a dominant feature, now seem too large for her face.

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Everything."

"Didn't do it for you." Not really. If she weren't looking half dead trying to keep a baby alive, he certainly wouldn't care for her feeding or comfort.

Her eyes cut over to Carl, who is sandwiched between Beth and Carol at the dining table. "I know." 

Her gaze moves to Rick, who for once isn't positioned to stare at her, and just as quickly slides away and back to Daryl. "I screwed up, not letting him grow up. Not letting Shane teach him more."

Daryl frowns, puzzling through her intent. "You want him to learn what I know? Hunting and all?"

"Yes. Rick won't care and Carl needs to know."

Dread crawls up Daryl's spine, maybe emphasized by his earlier conversation with Carol about Rick's mental stability. He's not sure she's truly afraid of Rick, but she's wary, and her own body is failing her. 

"I will." It's easy enough to promise what he already intended to do anyway.

She lets her hand drop away from the loop, her attention returning to nibbling like a mouse at her food.

Shouldering his bag, he heads for the hall bathroom. At the doorway, he looks back to see Lori's watching him. There's so little life in her expression, none of the bitchy vitality he associates with her. It's the first time he's truly understood down in his bones that she might not survive even to bring the baby to term.

If Rick is this much on a knife's edge of sanity with his wife alive, what in all hells will happen if she dies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said, I'm trying to explain why the group might not travel much to a better area, and since we're AU already, this plot bunny is a big giant Macy's parade balloon sized bunny now.
> 
> It isn't meant to paint Rick as a villain, but to actually explore the descent his mind takes from stabbing Shane to how he fractured completely at the prison when Lori died.
> 
> My great-uncle was a lifelong prison guard. He built a ten foot fence around his entire ten acres and raised Akitas to run loose at night when he worked and his wife and daughter were home alone. He's not the only one that paranoid I've met.


	3. Not Going to Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl shoulders more of the tasks of leading the group without officially leading the group.

** September 8, 2010 **

Daryl nods as T-Dog opens the gate for him to pull the motorcycle through. It's not supper time yet, so he's doing better than yesterday's trip.

One thing he fast realized was he can't train these kids and Carol only on the property here. At the same time, he can't risk the younger two without weapons they're proficient with. Thus today's solo run that is probably going to get that concerned look plastered all over Carol's face.

"Good haul today?" he asks T-Dog. It lessens their defenses here to send the man out with Glenn and Maggie, but they need the backup and extra muscle.

"Cleared out that dollar store you flagged and the school cafeteria. Can tell they were coming up on summer break, but we managed enough to make Carol stop frowning."

That's good to hear. Carol's like a human calculator for food. He spent more time searching than hunting today, but with luck, she and the kids went fishing.

"What about our leader?"

"Stood guard all day, according to Carol and Hershel."

Daryl doesn't look toward the big deer stand he set where it has a near 360 of the fence lines. If Rick wants to be their self-appointed watchtower guard twelve hours a day, he can't complain too much.

"Best get these two guineas to Carol and wash up so I can eat before watch."

T-Dog nods and he pulls away while the man chains the gate for the night. Carol's at the backdoor before he has the bike parked, coming to take the two birds and the net bag he uses for foraging. Today's haul is less garden and more woodlands, but no one will complain.

"Can't say I've ever eaten these, much less cooked them. Any tips?"

"Like chicken but gamey. Keep it real moist when you cook. Granny always used a crockpot."

"I do have two of those. I'll freeze one and cook the other tomorrow."

Daryl unstraps the Army surplus duffel just as the kids make it back from the pond. As he guessed, Carol sent them to fish, because Beth and Carl both have stringers of half a dozen catfish each.

As soon as the two compound youth bows clear the bag, he's got their undivided attention. 

"Are those for us?" Beth asks, grinning.

"Those don't look like bows," Carl adds. He was really disappointed that Daryl axed the idea of crossbows for any of them, even youth ones. The reload time definitely doesn't make it a beginner's weapon for the world as it is now.

"You're thinking of bows in movies. Longbows, maybe recurves. This is a compound bow. Lots of mechanics to it. Y'all will practice while I'm out each day."

It's still a complex bow, but the speed is what he wants for them. 

"Now, let's get those fish cleaned so we can get supper started," he says. Beth takes both strings of fish and the guineas, while Carl goes to fill a bucket with water to bring to the folding table they use for cleaning fish and game. 

"I'll get the water boiling to scald the birds," Carol says. "Lori can sort the forage bag."

It's subtle, but the more Daryl and Carol engage the two kids in useful skills, the more the others have stepped up to do something. Some things Beth knows, like plucking birds, but that only spurs Carl to participate.

T-Dog's been helping Hershel with a small fall garden with some seeds Maggie and Glenn brought back. With Rick finally settled enough they don't need to pick up and move every few days like they're dodging the mafia. Maggie and Glenn have even been working past just doing the runs.

Even Lori's been doing her best to help, folding laundry from the confines of the cooled master bedroom during the day and helping with dinner prep in the cooler evenings. Hershel seems to have hit on the right combination of medication, rest, and hydration to keep her stable for now.

As the kids start on the catfish, Carl giggles at Beth's determined expression when she grips the skin with pliers to peel it right off the fish after making the initial cuts. She passes the skinned fish to Carl and starts on the next while the boy guts and beheads the fish.

Prior to him starting lessons, both kids knew how to fish, but Beth never cleaned her catch. And Carl? He got tearful and clammed up as to how he knew. With Beth shaking her head frantically behind the boy, he backed off.

Daryl's still a little pissed at himself that it took him until the middle of his watch shift later to recall Shane wasn't exactly incompetent in the outdoors. No matter how relieved most of them were to be free of the man's descent into madness, the boy loved him. And unlike Daryl's own tempestuous relationship with Merle, there's no denying the man adored Carl unconditionally.

"Y'all got this?" he asks the kids.

"Yeah. These are a lot easier than the bass," Beth replies as she hands another fish off to Carl.

"Gonna go help Carol with the boiling water."

As he crosses the yard to the back porch, he looks up at the watch stand and sighs. Better up there than down here, he guesses. No matter what he wanted to claim in the end, Rick Grimes' skin has to be crawling with the uncertainty of Randall's group still being out there.

He snags a bucket off the porch on his way by. Carol's using the tea kettle to make the other pots boil faster. 

Lori's at the table, a fan blowing on her as the day cools. She's almost done shelling peas. "Good run today?" she asks.

"Scouted out a few spots for the supply folks. No sign of undesirables, but no sign of Sophia either. Brought bows back for the kids to practice on."

Carol, too, but she probably won't drill with the bows as much.

"It's okay, you know, if you want to work on his shooting, too," Lori says. "Although I guess you gotta go off property for that."

"Be best. Once I've done a good radius of here with no unfriendlies, I'll take a group out to shoot. But not til then."

"How long will that take?"

"Another week or two. Gonna take the team out tomorrow for that place I got the bows for the rest of the supplies. Kids can squirrel hunt with the pellet guns, but I need a truck to really clear what's left."

Lori pops the last of the peas into the bowl and drops the hull into the scrap bucket. "Want me to start the peas, Carol?"

"If you're feeling up to it. I have every cut. Just gotta cook til the veggies are soft before you add the stock and peas."

Carol doesn't seem worried, so Daryl guesses it's a good day for the pregnant woman.

She's normally careful to keep her belly hidden by wearing men's shirts that would better fit T-Dog. But it's not buttoned up right now, so he can see the outline stretching the tank top she wears. No one discusses that sort of detail, but he's starting to wonder if maybe the reason she's been so worn out is twins.

As Carol starts dumping boiling water in the bucket, Lori makes the kitchen smell heavenly. 

"Using Spam to stand in for bacon or ham in the peas?" he asks Carol.

She nods. "Glenn and Maggie found three cases in the back of that dollar store. Whoever raided it missed the stash in the managers office."

Daryl lifts the steaming bucket and carries it out the back door. Beth, ever alert these days, runs the two guinea fowl over. With Carol timing it, she tests the bird every thirty seconds, plucking a pin feather to see how it goves way. Soon as it's done, she passes it to Daryl and starts on the second.

Beth's faster than him on the plucking, so she damn near finishes her bird before he does his. Carl brings the fish to Carol and takes over the guinea from Daryl.

Daryl could butcher the birds faster and better, but the kids need practice. With Carol back inside, he snags the bucket and takes it to set beside the little garden plot for use tomorrow to water the seedlings.

"Daryl."

Coming to the garden brought him in range of the watch stand and Rick's attention. He walks over to look up at the man on the platform. The heavy beard needs a trim if he's going to keep it, but he'll be damned if he suggests it.

"Any issues today?"

"No signs of anyone living, not even an abandoned camp. Places I marked for scavenging been left alone long enough for dust to settle. Gonna take me a week or so to finish the grid."

Plan he's told Rick is he's sweeping for security, supplies, and hunting. The grid is supposed to go on repeat, but Daryl just isn't going to tell him he's going to spiral out further each time. It's part of why he goes out alone for these trips.

No one else has to lie about what he's doing this way.

Carol knows, but considering the base purpose is finding any sign of Sophia, she's not going to tell.

"That's good news. Either Randall was lying about having a big group, or they were moving on through to elsewhere. Group that big would leave a trail."

Rick's right about that much. Daryl just hopes their luck holds. They got weapons, thanks to clearing the military checkpoint at the hospital in Newnan, but they don't have solid manpower against a group that size.

"They would. Like a big festering sore."

"How's Lori today?"

"Up a bit. Getting in some exercise on reprieve from bed rest. Carol has her helping with supper a bit."

They've found Rick responds best to him delivering updates on anything, including Lori. It's a tightrope sometimes, but he's got a lifetime of practice at seeming to bow his head to an alpha male circling his territory.

He wonders if Shane would still be alive if he could have done the same. Daryl's got no pride saying he's got to be labeled a leader. If bending buys time for Rick to find his sanity, to be the good man Lori and Shane swore he was, then Daryl's always been skilled at waiting things out.

Baby brother tending the boring business so big brother can lord over all. Jesus Christ, Rick's got nothing on Merle.

"That's good. Guess being settled helps."

"Carl's trying his best to impress Beth," Daryl ventures. Today, Rick engages with the mention of his son and swivels his head to look where the kids are butchering the birds.

"He's being helpful and not just getting in her way?"

"Yeah, his knifework ain't as good as hers yet, but he's getting there. Got 'em both bows today while I was scouting."

"Be a good skill for him. Not noisy like a gun."

"Was thinking to bring some pellet guns back next. Let him hunt squirrels. Be a boy."

"Alright. He missed out on that before. Sounds good." Rick's attention drifts, eyes back to the gate.

Daryl doesn't sigh, even though he wants to. "Gonna go clean up before supper. Be out to relieve you after."

"Sounds good."

He leaves the man to his watch, heading for the house. 

Maggie's in the kitchen now, looking drowsy. With her and Glenn taking the worst watch in the middle of the night, they usually nap before supper.

She looks up from where she's cleaning her gun and smiles. "He having a good day or a bad one?"

Turns out he didn't have to say a word to Maggie. She came to him three days ago with the same conclusions he drew and the plan to use Carl's crush on Beth to keep the boy's tendency to roam under check.

Charged with protecting Beth's back, the boy hasn't strayed yet. Beth is smarter than Daryl initially gave her credit for. She doesn't know the full story yet, but she trusts Maggie. 

"Good one. Paid attention to Carl for longer and talked more."

The postures of all three women ease at that. Carol slides the fish in the oven and turns, leaning against the counter.

"I'm going to bring T-Dog into confidence," she says. "He needs to know. So does Glenn."

Maggie scoffs. "They both know. They just want to avoid talking about it, because then they gotta consider the harsh parts. Same reason Daddy watches but doesn't speak up."

"Lori, you don't have to stay for this."

Carol's kindness is meant to spare the fragile woman. But Lori just sits down and rubs her hands across her face. 

"Carl still won't tell me why he's afraid of his daddy. I think what Rick told us can't be true, because Carl's never been afraid of Rick. Only thing I can think of is him killing Shane in cold blood."

Maggie begins reassembling her gun. "Could explain why he can't face Carl. If Carl saw him do something like that, that might eat at Rick's mind as much as the actual killing."

Huh. It makes sense. Rick's hardwired ro be on the sunny side of the law. If his only son saw him commit a crime as dire as murder, that could scramble his sanity up like Sunday brunch.

"Not much we can do but wait it out," Daryl says. "Hope he gets better."

Lori groans. "This is all my damned fault."

"They were both grown men pissing all over each other like you were some sort of prize to be won," Maggie says, tone firm. "Not saying you didn't stir the pot, but how far they took it? That's on them, not you."

"Could've both decided being brothers was more important than a woman and dumped you on your ass," Daryl says. He expects outrage, but instead gets a rattle of laughter from Lori.

"That speaking from experience?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Maybe." Granted, they beat the utter shit out of each other over Kathy Jo Morgan before finally deciding her wanting both Dixon brothers notched on her bedpost wasn't worth it.

Carol reaches out and curls her fingers around the crook of his elbow. "Why don't you go wash up?"

He nods, but pats her hand before pulling away. Some days, he's not sure who's gentling who is this odd dance they've got going. He's not going to cross the line first, not with Ed's ghost still lingering. But for the first time in close to a decade, he's interested in more than a weekend tumble.

Definitely not going to rush that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to bring this one closer to the other's timeline. 🙂


	4. Tonight, Part 1 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl takes Carol out for her first walker kill, which leads to them finally talking about their ongoing flirtation.

**September 15, 2010**

Daryl holds up a hand to signal for silence and is delighted when Carol stills as fast as a rabbit sighting a hawk circling. Taking her out with him is risky, because she’s still learning. But at the same time, she is never going to really have the right skills without putting them under pressure.

Thus today’s trip, which is nothing to do with scouting and everything to do with letting Carol kill walkers.

He signals three walkers, seeing her nod. She’s terrified, he can tell. But instead of it being the type of terror that freezes her into tearful inaction, she’s holding herself tense and ready. She’s practiced with that damned machete back at the house so much he’s had to sharpen it twice.

As difficult as it is, he hangs back when Carol steps out of cover and into the open. She’s a natural with the bow, and he thinks she could probably take down two from a distance before needing to resort to the machete. It feels a little cruel that he’s making her leave the bow on the Triumph for this part of today’s trip.

Despite his confidence in her burgeoning ability, he still holds the crossbow ready.

She goes for the smallest walker first, one that was probably a college kid from the tattered West Georgia Technical College shirt she’s still wearing. The swing is brutal and efficient, cleaving half the skull just like he’s been teaching her. It took a bit to get her to stop aiming for the neck on the dummies he made. No sense putting a biting head on the ground to endanger yourself.

The girl hits the ground and Carol has the space of three breaths to center herself before the next walker is in range. Part of why he picked this trio is that two of them are women of similar size to Carol herself. She takes the second walker down with equal ease, but he can see the nerves setting in as she eyes the third walker.

Dressed in work coveralls with a tag that declares his name to be Brent, he’s taller than Daryl and broad as Merle in his prime. Probably a mechanic or other labor intensive job, although some mass is lost to the wasting that manages to work around the virus’s function in keeping the host operating.

He levels the crossbow at the walker’s head, waiting to see if Carol remembers what he’s trained her to do. She’s faster than the walker, and that’s an advantage with a bigger opponent, living or dead.

Carol sidesteps the walker in a maneuver that confuses the damned mindless thing, swinging the machete to neatly hamstring the left leg. It hits the ground with a meaty thud, still scrabbling to figure out where its prey disappeared to. Before it can even begin to locate her, Carol plants a foot in its back and destroys the skull with her machete.

She’s breathing hard, still with one foot on the walker’s back. He can tell by the pattern she’s close to hyperventilating, so he slides his crossbow to his back and crosses the parking lot to bring himself into her range of sight.

“You did good, Carol.”

He gets about thirty seconds of her blinking rapidly, focused on him but not at the same time, before she bends and vomits beside the walker. He reaches out to rub her back, glad when she doesn’t flinch away.

When she looks back at him, she’s back with him, sharp intelligence present in those blue eyes. She fumbles in a side pouch of her backpack and brings out a travel sized bottle of Listerine and rinses her mouth, spitting the harsh mouth wash out and rinsing a second time before she speaks.

“Now I know why Maggie gave me this damn bottle,” she mutters, eyeing the empty bottle before dropping it beside the walker.

Daryl laughs softly. “Farm Girl’s a practical soul.” It’s what he likes about the young woman. She reminds him a lot of the hardened women he grew up with and around. Her edges are just softened by a slightly more genteel upbringing with her church deacon daddy.

“It won’t be like this each time, will it?” Carol says softly.

“For walkers? No. Takes a while, but you get used to it. Both the feel when you connect and the smell and sound.”

“And anything else?”

“Can’t speak for more than animals, but I always feel a little off when I have to take any game bigger than a squirrel. It’s different, taking down something living versus something that shouldn’t be walking the earth. You know the person once in there is probably grateful to have their husk laid to rest.”

Carol eyes the walker at her feet for a minute. “Did you pick a group with a man like Ed on purpose?”

He nods, watching her carefully. It was a calculated risk, putting her up to something like that the first time she hunted walkers, but he had to know. Putting that pickaxe in Ed’s already dead head is entirely different than facing a moving, dangerous target. There are far too many men in Georgia that fit the size and shape of her unlamented husband to risk her life on her freezing during a heavy fight.

“Thank you.”

Daryl releases the breath he was holding, relief settling in. He didn’t overstep.

“We should check the clothing, right?” she asks.

“Yeah. Sometimes there are useful things, and it doesn’t hurt to see if there’s a pattern of movement if they have ID.”

Carol drops to one knee, frisking the walker carefully and finding nothing. She looks up at him and he reaches down to roll the walker off its belly to its back.

“Most men keep any personal items in their pants under the coveralls,” he suggests. “Less chance of leaving it behind at the shop or washing it because you were in a hurry to get out of the fucking hot thing.”

She sighs and unzips the overalls. Their protective barrier means that the clothing underneath is actually fairly clean, compared to the ragged and bloody clothing on the two female walkers. 

“He’s got cigarettes,” she remarks, pointing at the shirt pocket, where the red box top of a pack of Marlboros is visible. 

“I will quit smoking before I take them off walkers,” he declares vehemently, making her laugh.

“Don’t suppose that would be a safe risk to be taking.” She pilfers the man’s front pockets and comes up with a sturdy pocket knife, a Zippo that still lights, and a pack of Big Red gum.

It’s the gum that makes her pause, turning the small checkout lane size pack over and over in her hands. Just when he’s about to comment about the gum being even less palatable than the cigarettes, she speaks.

“Sophia loves these little twenty-five cent packs of Big Red. Loves anything cinnamon, really, but especially if it’s got a bite to it, like this gum or red hot candies.”

He files that little tidbit about the girl away, with all the other small things she’s revealed. Each piece of the puzzle fills in the blanks of the shy little rabbit who once scampered toward him and Merle for protection from the raging of her daddy. It’s something he still hasn’t told Carol, uncertain of how reminders of Sophia feeling unsafe would set back Carol’s own progress away from the timid mouse she was back at the quarry.

Carol carefully slides a piece of the gum from its paper wrapper, discarding the silver-wrapped gum and the remainder of the pack beside the walker. The single paper memento, she tucks into her own pants pocket without a word.

“Raise him up a bit so I can reach the back?”

Daryl rolls the walker slightly, letting Carol filch the man’s wallet from the right pocket and then check that the left is empty. She flips the wallet open, ignoring the bank card and other plastic laminated cards behind it for the driver’s license.

“He’s a local,” she comments before tugging a paycheck stub out from where it’s tucked in with a pair of twenties and a five. “Might be worth checking the garage, right? Supplies for the vehicles?”

He takes the stub and slides it into his own pocket. “Definitely a good plan.” Giving the few vehicles they have a tune-up would be another good lesson for the kids. He doubts they’ll be able to use any vehicles past the winter, not unless they collect and treat a lot more gas than they have so far. But skills are skills.

Carol rises and goes to check over the two females as well, not finding much useful other than that the one with ID on her is also a local. It’s a good sign, he hopes, because it means no herds from Atlanta or Columbus are in the area. None of the walkers he’s searched have been from anywhere other than here or a neighboring county.

“I’m guessing there’s a reason we’re on a community college campus?” Carol asks, looking at the two big L-shaped buildings they’re standing between.

“Maggie had a friend attend the nursing program here. Said it was just RN prep, but that means they should have books you and Hershel can use, right?”

The bright smile she gives him says he did guess correctly that it’s a good plan to raid the community college. “I wonder, sometimes, just how hard you had to work to keep your intelligence hidden back at the quarry.”

He shrugs and leads her toward the northern building with the big Health Sciences signage. “Always easy to let folks assume otherwise when they draw their conclusions on how I look and speak.”

“I think everyone is wise to you now, though.”

“I would hope so,” he mutters. He bangs on the door, eyeing the padlock and chains and hopes it means the building was cleared before being locked up. Places like this closed down before the government fell, so it’s highly likely that the building’s empty. He checked all the entrances on a prior trip, and every one of them still has secure chains and padlock. 

“This might be something that fits their old view of me,” he says, pulling the small toolkit out of his left back pocket. “Watch closely. Can do similar with tools you make out of bobby pins or paper clips, but since I got a kit, might as well show you proper first.”

“That’s a little flashy compared to the lockpick sets they show on TV,” Carol remarks. She sounds amused.

“Most locksmith’s kits are. It’s a bitch to have a small kit and then have to go back to the truck to find a bigger one when one bigger kit is better.” He smiles just a little at her and holds up the first tool. “This is a tension wrench. It’ll keep the lock open, like a key does. Give it a turn, just like a key, and hold it with the same hand you have the lock in.”

A glance up shows she’s intent on his hands, so he continues. “Then you take the rake and push it in like a key, teeth facing the same way the key’s teeth would. Angle it up against the internals of the lock, then pull it out, dragging the teeth against the lock.”

The first swipe doesn’t work, so he tries again and feels the lock pop open. “Can take a couple of tries sometimes, especially if the lock’s been exposed to the elements.”

“Why so many tools if you just need two?” she asks, taking the padlock when he passes it to her.

“Different locks need different tools. Ones like this one are pretty easy. Meant more to keep honest people out than anyone up to real mischief. Someone really wants past a chain and padlock? They’ll just cut them off with bolt cutters.”

He pushes away the memory of using old Dale’s bolt cutters on the lock and chains in that stairwell in Atlanta. Merle’s out there. He’s too damned ornery to let losing a hand kill him.

It takes them just under two hours to clear the building and pack away textbooks into both their packs. Carol’s even smarter than he is about the textbooks, because she doesn’t just take the professor’s copies from the nursing classrooms, but the ones from the paramedic one too.

“They cram a lot of information into six months or less for paramedics,” she explains. “Compared to how it’s stretched out for nursing programs because they have more to memorize. And let’s face it, most of our medical needs end up being more paramedic than nursing.”

It makes sense to him. They’ve been pretty lucky so far that everyone’s stayed pretty healthy, other than Lori’s pregnancy complications.

“Let’s get back before Maggie gets nervous and sends out a search party,” he suggests. Carol agrees, leading him back to where they entered. He lets her check their surroundings for anything that’s changed. When she gives a little nod, he opens the door for them both, taking the lock she offers him and rechaining the doors.

“No sense in leaving any more of a trail to where we’ve been than we have to.”

“What about them?” she asks, pointing at the three walkers. 

“Woods. Probably gonna come a storm this afternoon, so that’ll wash away any blood.” Or brain matter, but he figures she can make that leap of logic without him stating it.

Carol eyes the distance to the treeline at the back side of the campus and sighs before going to grab the feet of one of the female walkers, bracing for the weight and moving toward the tree line. He grabs the male and follows, glad the man no longer weighs what he once did and that he’s not so far gone for his limbs to drag right off his body. 

The ones like this guy usually are in better shape, and with no visible signs of a bite, Daryl’s guessing he died of the illness, not a bite. For some reason, those seem to always be in better shape, maybe because they don’t have wounds allowing access for bacteria to try to take hold.

Once the third walker is disposed of, he lets Carol dump a generous splash of hand sanitizer on his hands, cleaning his hands while she cleans her machete blade and hands. 

Hershel’s been worried about pathogens from the dead bodies more than the virus itself with the contact they have to have with walkers. Daryl’s used more disinfectant out on the road the past few weeks than he’s ever seen in his forty years before this, it feels like. The idea that he might bring something home to the others is chilling.

Something like E.coli or salmonella could kill them the same as a bite nowadays.

Carol slides onto the bike behind him, her hands gripping his waist comfortably beneath the leather of his vest but over the cloth of his shirttail. It’s a contrast to the terrified clinging she did that first week she rode with him. Now she rides like she’s been on a bike her entire life. The engine noise means they don’t talk much when they’re underway, but if he takes a slightly longer route to the big garden they’ve been raiding every few days to enjoy her being close, he knows she won’t care.

The mesh laundry bags Carol’s rigged up for him mean he can usually carry more perishables on the Triumph now, and they make quick work of moving through the rows in the overgrown garden. Some of the crops are being lost to weather, insects, and scavengers, but there’s still enough to fill both bags this trip.

“Be nice if we could rustle up some canning supplies and a pressure canner,” Carol remarks, clipping okra off the plants with efficient speed and a set of pruning shears from her pack, which she left back at the bike. “Hershel and T-Dog’s garden is looking to produce a bumper crop of tomatoes, and only so much freezer space in the fridge.”

“Probably need to raid more houses for that, unless we can get inside that big Walmart. Was spring, at least, when the stores last stocked, so they should have some stuff.” He inspects a sad looking cabbage but estimates Carol can manage to salvage some of it and tucks it in his bag. “Maybe look for a freezer or two as well. Seen a few sitting on porches around here. Generator should be able to take the extra load.”

“Gonna be a stinky mess to clear out on the used ones.”

He laughs. “You think? Worst smell I ever had, worse than those damned walkers, was when Merle knocked the damn plug out of the wall on our freezer once in the middle of fucking August, and it was out on the back porch. I was gone at the time and came home to a full loss on everything.”

“Bet you were pissed.”

“Yeah, I was. Left a package of the spoiled catfish in his bed. Was worth the trailer stinking like rotting fish for him coming home drunk and landing in the middle of that.”

Carol’s giggles get the best of her and expand into full blown laughter. “How did he react to that?”

“Dumbass didn’t even notice that night. Thought he managed to get something on him out at the bars, so he never even realized I did it.”

“You always sound so fond when you talk about him, even when it’s something others wouldn’t be so forgiving about.”

Daryl shrugs as he cinches up his full bag, watching as she crouches to dig potatoes up with a small garden trowel. Even in the ill-fitting cargo pants, he can see she’s put on much needed weight despite their scavenged diet. There’s actual curve to her hips now, and her shirt rides up enough to see the muscle definition in her back from the daily workout she and the kids undertake nowadays.

“He’s all the family I had for a long time. Good man when he’s sober, but his mind ain’t allowed for that so much the last few years.” His brother’s sobriety dwindled to being measured in monthly increments instead of yearly in the past two or three years. “Proof of why they say you can’t cure an addiction, just work on staying on the wagon.”

He gets an understanding look as she rises to her feet after tucking the potatoes down under the okra she already cut so the more delicate vegetable isn’t crushed. She doesn’t remark on the addiction issue either, just moves over to salvage several eggplants to finish off her bag.

“How’s eggplant parmesan sound for supper?” she asks as she pulls the cords tight on the bag. “It’s cool enough that we can run the oven a bit and not bake ourselves instead.”

“Pretty damned good. You gonna show Glenn and Beth how to cook it?”

While Maggie’s still a damned disaster in the kitchen on anything more complex than boxed macaroni and cheese, and Lori’s proven a decent enough cook when she’s not tackling a campfire, the real stars of Carol’s cooking lessons have been Glenn and Beth.

“Might as well. It’s one of those dishes that won’t really go obsolete, as long as we have flour for pasta anyway.”

That’s been a scramble of it’s own, saving flour, sugar, and other food packaged for short-term shelf life and repacking it so it’ll outlast the damned bugs Georgia can throw at it. Glenn and Maggie scored boxes of mylar from a kitchen store, along with still viable oxygen absorbers and food-grade buckets. Hell, that’s probably another resource for the canning supplies Carol wants.

Back at the Triumph, she hooks the bags so their contents won’t be damaged by the motorcycle itself and waits for him to settle astride the bike before joining him. This time, instead of her hands resting at his waist, one slides up and forward. He takes a deep breath when her palm meets the bare skin of his belly, turning to look over his shoulder.

There’s amusement in her eyes as her fingers move in a way that tells him it’s no damned accident.

“Carol?”

“You think I haven’t noticed how much attention you pay my backside lately, Daryl Dixon.”

He flushes, just a little. He’s tried to keep his interest under wraps, keeping to his promise to himself to let her decide if the verbal flirtations they’ve been having go further than teasing. 

“Oh, I’m not offended,” she adds. “I’m figuring it’s a compliment, because I never caught you admiring any of the other ladies back at the quarry or the farm. Even Rick’s eyes wandered, and T-Dog had almost as much of a fascination with Andrea’s breasts as your brother did.”

“It’s not anything you gotta pay attention to.” 

His lack of joining in on raunchier activities, even just trash talk, led Merle to accuse him of no interest in women more than once over the years, but the fewer habits of Will Dixon he can imitate, the better. Wasn’t a piece of trailer trash in three counties his daddy didn’t comment on or fuck around with when he was a kid, even before his mama died. Only difference between his daddy and Merle, most times, is that Merle, for all his shitty language toward women, never crossed a line where he wasn’t invited.

“And if I want to pay attention to it?”

Daryl takes a deep breath, reading sincerity in those blue eyes. “Then we talk about it somewhere I ain’t gotta ride a motorcycle back with the consequence of where your hand is.”

He’s gentle as he stills the hand above his belt buckle, moving it back above his hip. He’s not a hormonal kid like Glenn, risking getting either of them bit for a quick tumble. Carol deserves better than that anyway.

“Tonight then?”

“Yeah. Tonight.”

He kickstarts the motorcycle and feels her squeeze his waist once before settling into her usual posture as he heads for home.

Tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Carol got a little frisky at the end, so this'll be a two parter. I would tell her that she's hijacking my attempt to bring the two stories closer in time by adding an extra chapter, but I doubt she'll listen.
> 
> No Beth or Carl in this one, but they'll probably appear next chapter to make the timing for that little 'talk' a little more complicated. ;-)


	5. Tonight, Part 2 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the distraction of the others, Daryl comes to bed after his watch shift to find Carol hasn't changed her mind.

** September 15, 2010 **

Getting to actually talk to Carol in any detail proves impossible prior to supper.

Daryl barely gets the Triumph parked before they’re swarmed by Beth and Carl. He hands them each a bag of vegetables and shoos them towards the house and unstraps his pack from where it’s strapped in front of him so Carol can ride behind him. As always, he looks toward Rick on the watch stand, trying to gauge the man’s mood.

“Daryl?” She sounds a little hesitant as she shifts her weight and slings a leg over to get off the bike.

“Yeah?” He looks away from Rick to see Carol’s standing beside him as he follows suit. “You alright?”

“I just was thinking on the way back that we don’t have to…”

He could let her continue and the obviously reemerged self-doubts set in until she talks them right back to where they were this morning - limbo. Or he can do something. He can almost hear Merle’s voice in the back of his mind telling him to grow a pair, so he reaches out and snags her front belt loops.

“Ain’t no have to about it, Carol. Not in either direction.”

Blue eyes flick back and forth, searching his expression for sincerity. 

“C’mere.” Another tug and there’s very little space between them. “Whatcha worrying about?”

"Changing our friendship."

"Friendship ain't a static thing anyway. Always changing and evolving as we do."

"And if it doesn't work out?"

"Then we're friends who happen to know what the other looks like naked. Ain't complicated."

"Hey guys, I don't want to interrupt, but Daddy needs to talk to Carol."

Beth looks like she really does hate to interrupt when Daryl looks over Carol's shoulder at her.

"Go see what the man needs. We'll talk after my watch shift."

Carol nods, smiling a little hesitantly as she takes a few steps back before turning to stride toward the house.

The teenager's smile widens as she looks at him. "It's nice, you know, seeing you both happy. Hopeful. Even more than Glenn and Maggie because they're just now being more than hormones colliding."

He ducks his head away from the sincerity in her young face, as well as the unexpectedly astute assessment of how Glenn and Maggie began as a couple. He deflects, as always.

"Hope's all we got these days. Let's go get supper sorted, and I'll look over your archery tonight if y'all practice down by the watch stand."

That'll give them thirty minutes or so before they lose too much light for him to observe.

She falls in step beside him. "Daddy wants to suggest Carol practice surgical anatomy."

"How's she supposed to do that?"

"Well, in high school, they make you dissect frogs and fetal pigs."

"Think she's got plenty of practice with squirrels and rabbits."

"Yeah, but he means human anatomy."

Daryl stumbles to a halt, staring at Beth. "Walkers. He wants her to dissect walkers. Jesus H. Christ."

The little blonde nods, looking both fascinated and disgusted at the same time.

"Why are you bringing it up?"

"Because I want to learn, too. The more of us with medical training, the better. We already lost Otis and Patricia."

"And my brother." Although he does think Merle's dead, finding him in time to be useful for the probable surgical delivery of Lori's child isn't likely.

"He had medical training?"

"EMT certificate back before he screwed up and copped a felony that cost him his license. Got some kind of bonus pay on the job for having the certificate."

"That's why you think he could figure out how to survive without his hand."

He's talked to the kids about Merle, here and there. It's hard not to when he's teaching them everything he can, most of which he learned from Merle.

"Yeah." He sighs, thinking over Beth's request. It's a legitimate one, he thinks, and he is planning on a trip like today's to teach her to kill walkers anyway.

"Tell you what. Long as Carol and your daddy agree, we'll get started tomorrow."

Beth's grin could power the damn generator if he could harness all that happy.

He starts back toward the house, already dreading the very foul smelling anatomy lesson in their future.

He can tell when he asks Hershel, the old man wants to say no so bad he can taste. But the vet watches Beth, at the table with a textbook, studying it with enthusiasm and sassing with Carl over the contents and sighs.

"She's my baby girl and I want nothing more than to protect her. But apparently I need to redefine what protecting her means, don't I?"

Daryl nods, watching as Carol actually takes a break, such as it is, now that her cooking lesson is in the oven.

"She might not have Maggie's fearlessness, Hershel, but that's a good thing. A strong dose of caution and forward thinking is a good thing nowadays."

Maggie's like Merle. Brash, sure the world will bend to her will if she tries hard enough, and willing to bulldoze her way to what she needs and wants. It's a fair comparison, but one he won't make because no one will understand.

Beth's more like him. Observant, knows the world's a fucking place where you gotta choose your path wisely, and willing to exert the patience needed to find her future in a world gone mad.

In time, she'll be as good a hunter as he is, maybe even as good a tracker too. She can calm her mind in a way even Carol can't. It's just a matter of rerouting all that need to fit in into what the world needs now.

"I suppose you're right. You've excelled at everything you've taught her and the others so far, Daryl. I trust your judgement here."

Ain't that just an interesting turn of events, to be trusted by a God fearing man to make sure his precious daughter can kick ass and take names.

"I'll take her out tomorrow, like I did Carol today. Find a small group and let her see if she's really ready for what she's asking."

Hershel nods, looking sad and pensive. "I know looking after everyone and training the children takes time from your search for Carol's girl, so I thank you. It's easy to look at Beth and think she wouldn't survive out there alone, so neither would a younger child."

"Hard to predict how someone will adapt. Glenn was a pizza boy when the world ended and just trained himself into a little badass with nothing but his own determination. Girl like Sophia, already aware the world's out to make her life hell? She's got a head start."

"I do hope you find her, Daryl, and that she's safe. It would be the sort of miracle that proves faith is that the Lord will provide to those most in need."

Daryl can't argue with that.

"What are you two all cozied up about?" Maggie asks, grinning as she emerges from the hallway where most of the bedrooms are.

"Faith," Hershel replies.

His daughter blinks a little and Daryl just keeps his expression neutral. The statement's true, just not quite the sort of faith that's the easy interpretation when a man of God like Hershel normally uses that word.

Before she can respond, Beth calls out to her and she's distracted away. The content silence that follows reminds Daryl why he likes Hershel's company. He's not sure if it's age or personality, but the vet never has to talk just to hear himself like so many others of their group.

The full belly from the eggplant parmesan makes his round of watch duty a content one. About ten minutes before T-Dog comes to relieve him, he sees the back door open and Carol's slim figure cross toward the barn.

It makes his breath catch because he honestly expected the delay to see to the needs of everyone else to give her too much time to think. If just the ride home caused her to worry, the hours he's sat up here definitely add to her tally.

He's never been so glad of T-Dog's ability to be punctual to the point of always being five minutes early in his life. They exchange the all clear and Daryl crosses the yard, feeling the sense of anticipation from earlier return. 

Carol's reading, laid across the self-inflating sleeping pads he's hooked together to give him more room to sleep. He's never been more glad of his unusual self-indulgence when he led the raid on the old sporting goods store than tonight. His kerosene lantern flickers light across her skin, making the pale flesh glow.

Instead of being fully clothed and working herself back into doubts, like he anticipated, she's dressed only in a shimmering green satin camisole and matching shorts. It's not exactly lingerie in the raciest sense, but on Carol? It might as well be the kinkiest piece Victoria's Secret ever offered.

He sets his crossbow down and she looks up, smiling that teasing little smile that makes him want to throw all caution to the wind and pounce. He doesn't, because there will be time for that sort of thing later, once he knows better how this works between them. 

He sits on the camp chair and tugs his boots and socks off, watching as she slides a scrap of paper in to hold her place in the book and sets it aside. Just to tease her for the sight of those goddamned gorgeous legs being on display, he sticks to his usual bedtime routine. Leather vest hung on the camp chair, overshirt tossed over the arm. He showered before his watch shift, so everything is clean for tomorrow.

But for her, there's one deviation. He pulls off the gray tank top style undershirt and lays it across the chair, too.

He can tell the significance registers with her, because she sits up, crooking a finger at him before he can go for his belt buckle. He pads over to her and kneels beside the bedding. 

Carol doesn't kiss him like he initially expects, not right away. Instead, she strokes her work-roughened hands across his shoulders and collarbones, exploring the planes of him while she watches his expression. When her right hand finally wanders upward, sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, he can't resist temptation any longer.

She tastes like mint, like the toothpaste they all share nowadays because who the hell cares about brand names or fancy additives. Underneath the mint is something more unique, and he shivers as she indulges his need to chase the sensation of lips and teeth and tongue.

He lifts his hands from their uselessness atop his thighs and cups her face. In the end, they both need to breathe. When he pulls back, he can see that her pupils are blown, and he can tell with a flick of his eyes downward that that's not the only sign of her arousal. 

"Good?" he asks anyway. It's not fishing for a compliment, but a quiet assessment that he's not triggering anything that will turn this from what it's meant to be to something they regret.

"Yes." She emphasizes the single word by letting her hands drift downward, watching him for any signs of flinching as equally as he watches her. It's the first time he's let a woman touch the bare skin of his back, with all its twisted, ugly scarring, since he was sixteen years old.

Martina flinched and stopped touching, and he was still young and foolish enough then to believe that the fact she still let him settle between her soft thighs and finish what they began in her daddy's hayloft meant acceptance. 

They didn't last a month past losing their virginity together. She wanted the thrill of screwing a bad boy that would piss her daddy off, not the reality of the damaged world he actually grew up in.

Carol doesn't hesitate. Her fingers explore every last scar, the roadmap of rage and hate and anguish his daddy laid out on his skin that's marked him as _less than_ all his life.

His breath hitches and she smiles, both reassuring and inviting, leaning in to kiss him. Her fingers don't stop exploring his back even as she presses satin-covered curves against him. Unlike the deep, lingering kiss he sought, she's almost playful. Little teasing flicks of tongue and even light nips of teeth against his bottom lip.

It's perfect, lightening the potential intensity of the emotions stirred by trusting her to be different. Carol knows, more than most people, exactly what kind of strength it takes to trust someone like this.

She finally reaches his waistband and slides her hands forward instead. When she starts in his belt buckle, he ventures to touch bare skin himself, sliding his hands under the camisole. She's so slender it feels like his hands could span her waist.

He eases his hands upward, fingertips moving along her spine while his thumbs drag against her ribs. When he encounters soft, curved flesh, he feels her tense and spares the time to meet her gaze. He knows she has as much of a damaged view of her body as he does his own, if for different reasons.

"Can I?" he asks, voice husky with the fact that his body is more than delighted with her touch and the idea of getting more of it.

She bites her lip, but lets go of the waistband of his now-exposed boxers to raise her arms. He tugs the camisole upward, keeping his eyes on hers even as she disappears briefly behind the fabric.

He finally drops his eyes, letting the anticipatory smile take hold as he draws his own hands across her chest and belly with the same reverent care she showed for his back. 

Stretch marks, evidence that she's given back to this world far more than he ever has, are a soft glow of shimmering lines against her pale belly. They're scars in their own right, but from an effort of love, not terror.

He's not sure he should tell her that her breasts, so small that it's frequently hard for him to judge if she's even wearing a bra or not, are absolutely perfect for him because the excesses of flesh most women take pride in do absolutely nothing for him.

Daryl's not sure he's ready to admit out loud that if he had to choose between Maggie or Glenn, he would prefer the slim young man. It isn't just that he finds slimmer, less blatantly masculine or feminine bodies more attractive. 

It's that people like Maggie wear their confidence like the second skin they were born with, while people like Glenn or Carol have to build their confidence brick by brick, scavenged from a world that never gave them a damned thing easily.

Carol's apprehension when his eyes meet hers again crashes through his reluctance to reveal a secret long kept by necessity. The words spill out, slowly at first and gaining speed as he goes.

She isn't offended, to his great relief. Instead, her clever fingers seek out the waistband of his boxers and tease against his skin in that undefined span that's no longer belly but not quite groin.

"I suppose you could demonstrate just how much you like the view," she says. It's invitation and challenge, even as she lets go, lying back in his bedding. He catches a flash of something lacy and red as the flared legs of the satin shorts shift.

Let it never be said he can't take a damned hint. He sheds his pants and boxers as a set, kicking them away as he crawls toward her. He kisses the inside of one knee and then the other, before sending the little satin shorts to join his clothes. 

Daryl was right about the red lace. The only clothing she has left is a scrap of red lace, a barely there thong that accentuates her ass and hips perfectly.

He rewards her easy acceptance of his most closely held secret with kisses up her silky inner thighs and proceeds to make her forget any worry she still holds about her attractiveness to him by narrowing her world and vocabulary to his name and pleas of "don't fucking stop."

He didn't anticipate just how vocal Carol would be, so he's glad they're in the privacy of the barn loft, behind the safety of the fence. She wouldn't have been able to let go like this, if he'd taken her offer this afternoon in the garden with all its bright sunshine.

Daryl moves to lie beside her, fingers trailing along her belly and ribs as she tries to catch her breath. Her body keeps twitching and he doesn't bother to hide his grin when she opens her eyes at last.

He knows his skill in what he just did for her. It's always been an easy workaround with a woman he didn't have a particular interest in. Most of the women willing to drop their panties for a Dixon back home didn't particularly care how they got off, long as they did. 

Merle would probably laugh himself unconscious to know Daryl took his advice that a woman would allow a man just about anything after his head between her thighs to be that he didn't generally have to actually follow through with the rest of his body.

The difference between Carol and almost all of those women is that his body is still painfully aware of the beautiful woman next to him. He wants her almost desperately, and that slow smile she gives him before producing a damned condom as if by magic is all the permission he needs.

She's just as vocal when they're chest to chest, sweat slicking their skin and fingers no longer gentle as she lays claim to his scarred back. Carol tumbles into her pleasure again, his name a fierce cry into the night as she does.

Him? He's quiet until the end, when it's not her name on his lips as his body stills above hers. He buries his face in her shoulder, breathing heavily and not sure if he hopes she heard or not.

Carol's gentle when she tugs at the nape of his neck. He raises his head to meet her gaze. She strokes his cheek and jaw before kissing him, long and sweet and every damn thing he needs and wants from her.

She's smiling against his lips when they have to come up for air.

"I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, was it worth the wait? 😇


	6. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescuing a woman and boy from attackers gives Daryl and Beth the first clue to where Randall's group is.

** September 22, 2010 **

Daryl begins alternating days for his tasks outside the little compound. When he takes Beth out, he stays close: training runs and supplies. He's even combined taking her out to hunt in the early hours with taking Carol out for scouting later. 

He can't say why he feels an urgent need to get them trained and ready, but the uneasy feeling that he's on a timer persists. Ignoring that extra sense of his has never paid off in the past.

Today's a really bad day for Lori. With Hershel needing Carol to stay, Daryl considers going out on his own. It's just a scouting run, after all.

Carl approaches when he's making sure he has emergency supplies on the Triumph. "Daryl?"

"Yeah, kid?" Daryl pauses, giving Carl his full attention. One thing he notices with the boy is that not a damn thing sinks in if he thinks you aren't committed to speaking to him. Daryl guesses it is a byproduct of a father always working and a mother trying to spread herself too thin to keep a public image up.

Too many of Carl's stories involve his mother and too few involve Rick's participation, after all.

"You've seen libraries, right?"

That definitely didn't strike him as something Carl would ask about. He nods. "Nothing big, but yeah. You need something?"

They've brought more books than just the textbooks, mostly the trio on their runs. But it's random grabs to finish off a box or backpack, not a direct search for content. It's made for an odd 'library' here, especially with Hershel's love of reading in the evening. Daryl's fairly sure he saw the man reading a Stephen King novel last night, and horror fiction does not seem to be the older man's cup of tea.

"They make books that teach you about local animals and plants, like you're teaching us, right?"

"They do. Field guides." There's probably other books that are more survivalist in content. He scratches at his goatee. He's been keeping it trimmed better, now that Carol's given no sign of going back to her hammock on the porch.

"Can you see if there are any of them around?"

"Sure. Good thinking about the books, Carl. I never even gave that a thought."

The boy beams, and Daryl means the compliment. So much of how he was taught was hands-on that he doesn't always think of books as resources.

"You should take Beth with you. Everyone worries when you're out alone."

The comment seems almost random, but the concern in Carl's voice is becoming familiar to Daryl the longer he stays with this group. And while Daryl's first instinct is to say no, since he's going to push the edges of his search area today, he doesn't.

"Why don't you go see if she wants to go along then?"

The kid darts off, and Daryl watches him go. He keeps waiting for Carl to ask to go out himself. He's prepared a half dozen reasons to wait, but also a couple of small runs, just in case. So far, the boy seems unwilling to venture far from his mother.

Half an hour later, he and Beth leave, headed north and east toward Peachtree City. There's a library near the lake Daryl wants to explore around, and it's bigger than the local branch down in Sharpsburg. 

Unlike Carol, Beth wears the half helmet he found after Hershel looked so damned uneasy about his daughter on the bike. As they get closer to winter, he'll have to see about improvising riding gear, too.

They pass a few straggler walkers along the way, and he reminds himself they should let Beth practice more on the way back. He pulls into the deserted library parking lot, rolling right up to the door. It's not chained like the community college, but still locked the regular way.

"Time to see if you can manage a real lock and not just practice," he tells Beth. 

She rolls her eyes at him and takes the kit. She succeeds on the third try. Of his trainees, she's definitely got the most finesse on anything like this.

When making noise inside the building draws nothing, Daryl rolls the motorcycle inside the big double doors while Beth locks the deadbolt. Leaving signs of living people when they can't see all the exits is not on Daryl's agenda. All the years of listening to Merle's dipshit friends about avoiding the law applies easily to avoiding the lawless now.

"Gotta stay alert. Don't want to be the dumbass who got bit in a library of all places," he instructs.

Beth laughs. "That definitely wouldn't make for a good epitaph." She noses behind the counter, not finding anything interesting. "Employee room back here."

Since break rooms are often small gold mines of missed or forgotten supplies, Daryl nods. Beth clears the room carefully while he watches. She makes a happy sound and wobbles a box of Cookies and Cream Pop Tarts at Daryl. "Maggie's favorite."

They look like a bellyache waiting to happen to Daryl, but women are weird about chocolatey foods. Beth drops the box into her backpack, along with a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and a scattering of snack food.

And like every building they clear, she snags the toilet paper out of the small employee bathroom.

"Public bathrooms will probably have the big rolls. Might send Maggie's group by with the truck if we run low," she says.

"Think this place has an actual card catalog?" he asks. The bank of computers meant for searching out books are obviously useless now.

"Maybe, somewhere. But I worked as a library aide. Maybe the 600 or 700 shelves."

Since she's got a working grasp of the library system he barely remembers, Daryl lets her lead the way. He frowns at the heading for the 700 series of books. "Arts and recreation?"

The teenager nods. "I know that's where archery books are. Sports fall under this section. Boys back home were always checking out archery books for some reason."

Daryl's not sure what the hell they could learn from a book better than practicing until using a bow is imbeded in their muscle memory. But not everyone has a Merle to thump that lesson through their heads.

She kneels, skimming her fingers along titles at the very end of the 700 shelves. Finding what she's looking for, she slides several books off the shelf and hands them to him. "Any of those look viable?"

He flips through all four and nods, tucking them in his backpack. "I'll look closer tonight."

She stands and wanders the other aisles, looking past titles faster than Daryl would manage. It feels like she's jarring her memory of time spent shelving books, so he lets her think.

'Boy Scout Handbook." He takes that one, packing it away. Then she gives a cry of triumph, passing him a US Army survival guide along with two civilian books. His backpack is getting heavy, but he intends to strap it to the bike, so better his than hers.

"Last but not least, field guides."

Daryl recognizes the Peterson's guides and doesn't bother looking at the others Beth dumps into the backpack he holds open for her. She's the expert here on finding these things.

She straightens from rechecking a shelf and freezes, gaze caught on something outside the windows. The windows have that one way tint, so Daryl hasn't been worrying about them being seen. He steps closer to see what she's spotted.

There's a curly haired woman and a teenager running toward a nearby building, three men in hot pursuit.

"We gotta help, Daryl."

Well, fuck. She's right, but he doesn't want to endanger her. Randall's unknown group is always on his mind.

"Gotta be careful, Beth. Just cos she's a woman don't mean she's innocent."

Beth nods, following him to the door. Dropping both backpacks, he readies his crossbow while Beth darts over to get her bow off the Triumph. He flicks the deadbilt open on the back door, just as the woman trips.

She yells at the teenager to keep running, struggling to her feet. The delay costs her. One of the pursuers tackles her to the ground.

Any concerns Daryl had for good versus bad is eliminated when he rolls the woman over and punches her. The crossbow twangs, sending the bolt to embed in the man's back. He arches and rolls off the woman, gagging and screaming as his fall drives the bolt through his chest.

By the time he's reloaded the crossbow, Beth's put an arrow in the other two men. It proves what he's told the kids about the speed of the compound bow. Neither are kill shots, because she's still a novice. Both men are down though. The shock of being wounded unexpectedly seems to keep them stunned.

He holds an arm out, keeping her in the alcove. Nothing comes to the screams, but the woman crawls to her knees, stumbling as she tries to rise. She pulls something from her belt and pounds the man who hit her in the face.

From the sprays of blood and the cessation of screaming, he suspects brass knuckles or something similar.

Deciding to risk the woman won't hurt them, he leaves cover and fires a bolt into the head of the more mobile of Beth's victims, who is fumbling for a gun. Beth, naive and ballsy as teenagers can be, knocks her bow when the woman seems like she's going to hurl herself at Daryl.

"We're trying to help."

"If you're helping, kill that bastard." There's blood splattered in the woman's face, hands, and clothes. Her shirt is torn, and he can see the split lip already starting to swell.

"Need to ask him a few questions first."

Daryl stuffs the soiled rag he uses to clean his walker bolts in the man's mouth that Beth wounded to shut up his blubbering. If the man gags, so be it. Damn rag is more bleach than fabric these days.

"Tell the boy to stop hovering," he mutters. "Makes me nervous, and she's jumpy with that bow when we get nervous."

It's not true, although he guesses he's never tested her against people until today. He suspects Hershel's going to be soothing nightmares once the reality sets in.

The teenager creeps forward at the woman's signal, standing at her shoulder. He seems to be uninjured, but he's breathing hard with a rasp to it that worries Daryl. His skin is paler than Beth's, and Daryl once thought you couldn't get any more milk white than the youngest Greene.

The beaten man stirs and moans. Daryl sighs and goes to step on the man's hand, feeling a crunch under his boot. It rouses the man to alertness, but he's smart enough to understand the crossbow aimed at him.

"Where you boys from?" he asks gruffly. 

The man looks defiant at first, until Daryl steps down harder. He makes a choking sound, seeming unable to scream from the damage to his face.

"South. Lake."

The woman nods. "When they grabbed me, the dead one was bragging about how they were going to take me back to their buddies and be real popular for bringing in a new woman."

Beth makes a pained sound. He's trained her in the sort of bar brawl self-defense he knows, trying to emphasize that men like these exist. But this is her first dose of reality about it.

"How many assholes you got down there?" The geography is close enough to be Randall's group. It's too close to the compound for his comfort.

Busted Face flinches when he lowers the aim of the crossbow to the man's groin. Daryl keeps questioning him, needing far less force than he used in Randall. Little shit was more of a badass than this piece of filth. Then again, he didn't jam the sharp tip of a bolt into Randall's gonads.

When he's gotten all the information he thinks he can glean, he puts a bolt through the bastard's head. The man he gagged has wet himself by the time Daryl returns to him. He begs a lot more than Busted Face did, volunteering more information, but Daryl has no mercy there either.

"Shouldn't leave them in the open, right?" Beth asks. She's pale but seems to be holding strong.

"Drag 'em over behind the library dumpster." Despite her injuries, the rescued woman and boy do their part to help.

"You got any people?" Beth asks, offering a package of baby wipes from the fanny pack around her waist to the woman to clean her face and arms. She sanitizes her own hands like after walker disposal, offering Purell to Daryl and the boy too.

The woman shakes her head. "Lost our group a week ago down south of Senoia. We were trying to see if Atlanta survived."

"Military burned Atlanta. Napalm." The pair shudders at Daryl's words. "I'm Daryl, and she's Beth."

"Karen and Noah."

Part of him doesn't like the risk he's about to take, but he can't leave a woman and boy on their own. The kid's older than Carl, but not by much.

"We got a camp nearby. Secure. Beth's daddy can probably stitch up your cheek." The baby wipe revealed some of the blood on her face to be her own from a split open cheekbone on top of the split lip.

"He a doctor?"

"Veterinarian," Beth answers. She opens the small first aid kit in her fanny pack and offers a disinfectant wipe and butterfly strips to Karen.

Karen looks at Noah, who is still breathing funny. "Go ahead and use your inhaler, Noah."

Daryl's not sure if the boy was trying to hide his asthma or trying to spare medication. He fumbles an inhaler out amd doses himself. His breathing quiets.

"Might have some meds at camp for that." Weird as it seemed, Carol gleaned information from her textbooks that asthma meds help preterm labor.

Karen's still hesitating, but when Beth hands the boy a protein bar, she loses the battle with being wary. "Will your people welcome two more mouths to feed?"

"Long as you're willing to learn how to help, yeah."

Beth nods, the blonde hair escaping around her helmet making her look even younger than she is. "Daryl's a good teacher."

Karen sighs and nods after looking toward where they hid the dead would-be rapists.

"Gotta find a vehicle now." Beth's right on that. No way they can get four people back in the Triumph.

"City trucks at the building next door. Bet there's keys somewhere."

Leaving the motorcycle where it is for now, he leads the group to the two parked city planning trucks. They're in luck that the scramble as governments fell means employees weren't as worried about job security. One of the trucks has keys in the ignition.

Getting the truck's engine to turn over is worrisome for a minute. Daryl's not sure of it's degraded gas, but even after it starts, the truck idles rough. "Half a tank. You'll drive the boy in this."

"Should we look for supplies since we have the truck?" Beth asks. 

"Might as well, if you're willing?" he directs to Karen.

"I imagine we'll be more welcome if we bring supplies."

He likes her practical nature. "Pull it around the front of the library. Today's about knowledge."

It's also a test to see if she'll just drive off, but when he and Beth route back to the rear entrance to relock it and grab their bags, the truck's backed up at the front. When he lets them inside, Karen looks around with an assessing look.

"Libraries are a vital resource now, I suppose. What do we need?"

"You know the book system?" he asks.

Karen shrugs. "I was a school teacher, before. Noah was one of my students."

Beth grabs a pair of the rolling carts used for shelving books. "Nonfiction is a priority, anything you think might be good. Then fiction. Easy to go crazy with boredom."

Karen and Noah disappear into the nonfiction, leaving Daryl to follow Beth to the displays near the checkout desk. She stacks everything on the displays, shrugging when Daryl quirks a brow.

"Best way to get a variety, right?"

Daryl leaves her to it, spotting DVDs in carosels. Flipping through them, he grabs useful ones first from nonfiction. Once those are on Beth's cart, he makes random selections from the fiction. Like Beth says, boredom is going to be an enemy come winter especially. House has electricity and a DVD player, so might as well.

They sweep through the library once the truck bed is half full of books.

"Hey, Daryl? Can I have your lock kit?"

He looks to where Beth is peering into a glass door. "Something special in there?"

"It's the arts and crafts room. Lori's an artist."

"Alright." He hands her the kit, reminding himself to locate a locksmith shop for more tools.

Karen's eyeing them speculatively as Beth gains access to the room. "Got a lady on bed rest," Daryl explains.

It actually makes the woman smile, despite her beaten face. "Remind me to grab an origami book downstairs if there's not one here."

Clearing the room fills the rest of the truck, including dozens of fancy little packs of paper that go with the origami books in the classroom style set up room. Beth looks so damned pleased with herself that Daryl's smiling as they get back on the road.

Worrying about the twenty or so men left from the group he's confirmed to be Randall's can wait until he's got extra minds on the problem.

The more immediate one may be getting two strangers past Rick Grimes' paranoia. He just hopes the way the man's really eased up around Daryl since he and Carol got together works in their favor.

He can't leave this woman and kid vulnerable any more than he can the rest of his group. Rick's just going to have to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Beth... That's going to be a hell if a meltdown later.
> 
> Not sure if I'll do a follow-up of them arriving home or just move to dealing with Randall's buddies.
> 
> And there are multiple Noahs in TWD. This is the Woodbury one, not the Grady one.


	7. End on a Better Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's mental instability has led the group to drastic measures as they prepare to take on the remnants of Randall's group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This isn't meant as a Rick bash chapter, but the result of the group trying to cope with a mentally ill member without resorting to killing him.

**September 29, 2010**

Even though he's not on watch, Daryl is awake before dawn. He presses a gentle kiss on Carol's forehead. She stirs just a little, but doesn't wake, making something in his chest flicker warmly that she trusts him so much. He gets dressed and sits in the hayloft opening.

In the distance, Hershel is the one in watch, taking the shift Glenn normally sits. They need the young Korean in top form today. Daryl lights a cigarette, drawing deeply as he considers the dog kennels and their current resident.

Rick didn't cope well with new people being allowed into the compound. 

He snorts at his own mental understatement. Man went batshit crazy when he realized the truck Beth drove into the compound behind him had passengers. It took Daryl, T-Dog, and Glenn combined to disarm and subdue him without killing him.

The scene was wildly reminiscent of Daryl's own fight with Shane and Rick back at the quarry. But where Daryl eventually saw reason, Rick's rage only subsided when Carol jammed a syringe loaded with enough ketamine that Hershel was a little alarmed after. It still took the longest five minutes of Daryl's life for the man to succumb to the sedative.

The previous resident's dog kennels were meant to cage pretty damned big dogs, but the man loves the critters enough to build them high-end housing. They carried Rick into one of the kennels and padlocked the damn thing with a combo lock. He wouldn't put it past a cop to know how to pick a keyed lock, and most don't learn the combos.

Daryl finishes the cigarette and gets to his feet. He wakes Carol this time, giving in to the leisurely kiss she initiates.

"I wish I was going with you today."

He smiles at that. "You know I ain't doing it to protect you, right?"

"I know, Pookie." The impish smith she gives him almost makes him like the weird pet name. 

"Only one I trust to make any hard decisions about Rick." He's taking all the other viable fighters with him today. Granted, Lori knows how to shoot, but she's still sidelined by the difficult pregnancy. As for Hershel, he's still uncertain the old man can turn his gun on a living human being.

"We'll be fine. The boys and I can protect the compound just fine."

Noah's aim isn't perfect yet, but the boy drilled with the pellet guns and bows to the point Daryl's worried they have a serious concern with him. But he's Karen's responsibility, and she thinks he just needs a focus. Daryl can actually understand that from his own anger fueled youth.

As for Carl, he doesn't have any of the worries about the youngest Grimes he has about Hershel. As much as he hates the idea of a twelve-year-old shooting someone, Daryl has no doubt that Carl Grimes will kill to protect his mother.

"Gonna be a long watch today. Keep close to a radio."

Lori suggested they glean the radios from the local police, just like they had at the quarry. It took some creative rigging, but Glenn and Maggie got it sorted. There's a radio setup in the house and on the watch stand now. Daryl feels kind of inept that he didn't think of it sooner.

Carol nods, sitting up even as he makes his way to the stairs down. He pauses and takes a protein bar and some blueberry flavored cereal bar from a box and grabs a water bottle.

"Gonna take Rick his breakfast."

"Be careful. He's been calmer since he agreed to take those meds Hershel figured out, but we're all in the dark here without a psychiatrist. Hershel doesn't like that they seem to be effective so fast, either."

Daryl gives her a jerky nod. Luckily, the meds are given at supper, so he doesn't have to do the song and dance to make sure the man takes the pills. He emerges from the barn and makes his way to the kennels. Using the turnstile meant to cycle the dog food bowls out of the kennel to be filled to deliver food and water to Rick still feels wrong.

He can't risk opening the door. Rick's been calmer since the rages of the first two days, but the injuries have barely faded on everyone from restraining him. It would have been easier, if they were willing to hurt the man, but no one is there - yet. The repeated doses of tranquilizer during the rages were bad enough.

Rick has full room to move through all four outdoor kennels. During one of his sedated periods, Daryl and T-Dog removed the dividing panels when they realized it was possible. It turns an eighty square foot space into over three hundred. Similar panel removal inside gives Rick a snug indoor space, although they haven't yet made a human sized door.

That's why he doesn't blame the man for having his sleeping pad and blankets on the ledge outside the insulated rooms that kept these dogs in more warmth and luxury than Daryl grew up in. The only way in is an actual dog door, complete with flap. Rick rises from the pallet, unshaven but steady, as he comes forward to take the food and water. He drops the water bottle near a few empties.

"Something big is going on. Why are they loading up like that? Are we changing locations?" Rick pockets the protein bar in the loose track pants he has cinched up around his thin frame. The blueberry he peels the packaging back and eats almost absently.

"Going to exterminate a nest of vermin today." Daryl doesn't mind sharing that information. "Our boy Randall's old group, I suspect. Ain't as big as he let on, or they've been as stupid as the ones we already took care of. Only fifteen after the three me and Beth put down last week."

He's confident of the number, having spent the last week spying on them. They have no captives, or he would've moved faster. Probably explains why they were so intent on catching Karen. They're dumbasses, because they're still living out of tents like some kind of nomadic group.

"I can help, Daryl. Was wrong in attacking you for bringing in a woman and child. I gave you another chance. Give me one."

It's not the first time Rick's used the second chance line on Daryl since he was confined. The offer to help is new. Normally, he just claims leadership and tries to claim none of them would be alive if not for him.

Even if he's still referring to killing Walsh, Daryl's fairly sure the crazy ex-cop only wanted one of them dead and buried. Perhaps Daryl would have been a target, but he doubts any of the others would be. Man snapped under the strain, but that didn't make him a complete psychopath.

"Don't trust him, Daryl. You can't trust him." Carl's voice is frightened.

"How can you say that, Carl?" Rick sounds genuinely distressed, turning toward the boy.

"I saw what you did, promising Shane it was going to all be okay. Then you stabbed him when he was hugging you and crying." Carl's paler than usual as he turns to Daryl. "You can't trust him. If he'll kill Shane, he'll kill any of us."

"Carl." Rick's voice cracks, and he stumbles to the chain link. "I would never hurt you. You're my family."

The boy backs away, putting distance between him and his distraught father. "So was Shane." He hands a parchment paper wrapped package to Daryl. "Beth sent this down for him."

The boy's gone as fast as his feet can carry him. Daryl avoids looking at Rick, because he can hear him weeping. He isn't sure how to address the emotion.

The little package is two biscuits with spam and tomato, the parchment paper taped over them. Rick's not allowed utensils or even aluminum foil. Hearing Merle's stories of improvised prison weaponry makes Daryl paranoid as hell.

Bad part is, he's not sure if he's protecting them or Rick from harm by the ban.

Daryl rotates the turnstile, dropping the still warm food into the bowl and flipping it back. He finally looks at Rick, who is clinging to the fencing as if he would crumple to the ground otherwise.

"He might forgive you, eventually, but not as long as he's afraid of you."

"How do you know?"

"Merle." Daryl shrugs when Rick frowns, face still tear stained. "He did the best he knew how, so I might survive the world. Doesn't make it any easier that he did it wrong most of the way."

Not all of Daryl's scars come from his father, but he's certain that Merle's were never intended just to terrorize him.

Daryl starts to walk away, but pauses. "No one denies Walsh was out of control. Might even justify you tricking him, since he was one hell of a brawler. 

But you gotta remember Carl loved the man. And you keep looking at the boy's mama in a way that makes my balls crawl. Ain't a choice to be asking that boy to make."

"I would never hurt Lori." Rick's sitting on the cool concrete of the kennel floor now, arms wrapped around his knees.

Daryl sighs. "Tell that to someone who didn't watch his old man beat the hell out of his mama til she'd rather burn to death than endure another day. You get that same look sometimes. Only difference is you don't act on it yet."

"You're imagining things. I ain't that kind of man."

"Funny thing is? Neither was Will Dixon til I was born and didn't look enough like him. Seems like that's a situation you're facing, too."

Daryl leaves Rick then, unwilling to discuss it further. He already knows he'll take that baby and disappear with her if he has to.

Carol's waiting at the truck, expression wary as she looks toward the kennels. "Keep an eye on Carl. He's finally admitted what we all suspected about Walsh dying. Rick's stirred up, too."

She steps in for a hug, and he wraps his arms around her. She brushes a kiss across his lips. "Be careful. Bring everyone home safe."

"Do my best."

Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog load up in one truck, while Daryl drives the second with Beth and Karen as his passengers. Carol locks the gate behind them, and they're under way.

Six against fifteen isn't odds he would tackle before, but they can't run and hope to find another safe haven. Eventually these locusts in human form will move on to a new area, and it might be where Daryl's people are.

They get cut off from the parking lot Daryl designated as the one to leave the trucks in by the biggest damned herd they've seen since the farm fell. Reversing at enough distance to go unnoticed, Daryl sighs and grabs the radio mike.

"Wait 'em out. They're moving at a good pace and heading northwest."

He relays the delay to the compound and they wait. Beth pulls a field guide out of the glove box, grinning when he nudges her.

"Don't need three sets of eyes on the road, right?"

He chuckles and lets the girl study. Watching the variety of decaying forms in the distance through a pair of binoculars would probably interest some egghead sociologist. All walks of life are represented in the fading and tattered clothing. The virus is a great leveling field.

It takes close to two hours for the last stragglers to pass by. Daryl makes them wait another half hour before they move. There's not much sign of the deadly presence that just moved through when they reach the parking lot. Glenn's been with him, scouting, so the younger man takes the lead.

"Oh my God."

Daryl hastens to join Glenn at point.

"Holy shit."

All their careful planning to take down the bandit camp is for naught. Every vulnerability he and Glenn assessed for today's attack worked for the herd as well. No fences, camping instead of staying in buildings even without electricity, not keeping a guard on watch…

Identifying the bandits is a disgusting job of finding scraps of cloth and metal, but everyone pitches in. Daryl doesn't even think there's enough left of the camp to burn it.

"Think two might have escaped," Daryl says at last. Part of him is relieved that the others haven't had to cross the line he and Beth have. Glenn's been in a firefight, but as far as Daryl knows, he didn't kill anyone.

"Or turned fast enough not to be eaten," Maggie suggests. She nudges a half-bare skull recognizable as the nominal leader by the shoulder length salt-and-pepper hair.

"We'll clear the buildings around, just in case," Daryl says. Personally, if he escaped the herd, he would go for high ground, but who knows with these bastards?

Two hours of searching turns up only one of the missing men. 

Beth puts down the walker and eyes it dispassionately. "Seems rather poetic how they all died, right?"

"I would say that's one hell of a karmic payback," Karen mutters, making the rest laugh.

"Let's get back to the trucks. Folks are bound to be getting worried."

Everyone agrees to Daryl's suggestion. At the trucks, Glenn checks the time. "Thinking we could get in a supply run. All six of us, we could take on one of the bigger stores."

"Which one?" Maggie's already got her planning map out of her pack.

"The Aldi or the Home Depot. Herd probably swept up the strays in the parking lot."

The rest respond to the idea with enthusiasm, so Daryl radios in the supply run.

Today will end on a better note than it began on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the beginning note says, the group has no way to restrain Rick without hurting him and they don't want to hurt him. His med combo is left intentionally vague, especially due to the time period. PTSD is notoriously hard to medically treat.
> 
> However, there would be no textbook info on what Carol did actually helping beyond emergency sedation. While most antidepressants can take weeks to fully hit optimum levels, there are some studies now that emergency ketamine injections can actually have an antidepressant effect on the brain that is fairly immediate. It was interesting reading. 🙂


	8. He Lost His Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lori has a painful heart-to-heart with Rick about the baby, Carl, and Shane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temporary POV shift to expound upon some issues not covered in depth enough in the last chapter.

** September 29, 2010 **

As Lori steps off the back steps, she’s grateful that today is a good day. On a bad one, the distance from porch to kennels would feel like she’s trying to walk from Atlanta to Savannah. She can almost feel Hershel’s eyes on her as he settles into a chair on the porch. It puts him in line to observe her, without being so close that he’ll overhear the conversation she needs to have with Rick.

He’s sitting dejectedly against the building when she arrives, but looks up when he hears footsteps. Her heart restricts painfully at the signs he’s been crying. Ever since Carl returned to the house, shaking with emotion, and locked himself in the master bathroom, she’s known it’s time to finally pay the piper for all the sins she’s tallied for herself.

She slides the carry strap of the folding camp chair off her shoulder and sets the chair up. Once it’s settled, she takes a bottle of iced tea out of her drawstring bag and uses the turnstile bowl to leave it for Rick if he wants it. Settling into the chair with her own bottle of tea, she studies him as he stays where he is.

“It’s funny, I spent so much time whining that I wanted you to speak more, that I felt guilty for being grateful you didn’t these last few months.” Lori fiddles with the cap on the bottle. “And that was selfish of me to be grateful. I should have pushed and not let all this fester.”

“You’ve been sick.” Rick’s voice is hoarse, from crying she supposes, although it was really bad that first day when he screamed and raged so much Hershel said he damaged his throat temporarily.

“I’ve had good days, but I didn’t use them as I should.” The others have counseled her, advised that not everything that spun out of control on the Greene Farm is her responsibility. Intellectually, she knows that. But emotionally? She also knows that if she had put her foot down and stood firmly on one side or the other, or even did something novel to her entire life and stood on her own side independent of a male family member, they would not be having this conversation through a fucking kennel’s chain link.

The only thing to be grateful for here is that Daryl wasn’t alone in bringing Rick under control. He didn’t have to take drastic measures when Rick’s mind snapped like they were all dreading. Maybe it needed to happen, because even beyond the evidence of the tears, she can see an inkling of the man she married returning behind those beautiful blue eyes.

She’s missed him, in the time that he was driven away between her own rejection and his brother’s blood on his hands. No matter where they stand - where this ends - this is the man who has been her partner through better and worse since she was eighteen years old.

“How is the baby?”

Lori blinks, although she should have expected him to ask. It’s one of the few conversation patterns they’ve had since the farm. Is today a good day? How’s the baby? How’s Carl? 

That order is wrong. It has to be fixed, because Lori can’t continue to allow her son’s precious bright spirit to be crushed by the adults who were supposed to protect him. They can’t foist it all off on Daryl’s carefully hidden kind heart where lost children are concerned.

“They found an ultrasound machine, do you remember?”

Rick nods. The fact that veterinary equipment is pretty much the same for that particular item at least means that Hershel didn’t have to learn a new skill. 

“She’s healthy. Hershel’s measurements say eighteen weeks. He’s got enough of them to confirm he thinks the due date is the end of February. You know what that means, Rick.”

Her husband ducks his head, tugging at his hair a little. It has to be said. It can’t be ignored and swept under the rug, because that method led to heartache for everyone. Pretending otherwise led to the death of someone important to them both, and they may never get Carl back from the horror of that night. That innocence is gone forever.

“Yeah,” he mutters at last. “I can do the math.”

The fact that they hadn’t had sex in two months before he was shot completely eliminates the possibility. She got the positive test far too soon after his return, as well. There’s no arguing with the science or with her body.

Her daughter’s biological father is dead and gone.

“I know what we said at the farm, that it didn’t matter. That’s delusional, and we both know it.”

“Would it have mattered to Shane? If you’d been pregnant when I got shot?”

“You know it wouldn’t have. He loved Carl. But that’s apples and oranges in comparison, or hell, apples and damned broccoli, comparing a child conceived prior to a relationship to one conceived in the middle of two.” She sighs. “Tell me that every time you look at her you won’t feel yourself back on that farm?”

Rick shakes his head, shaggy curls bobbing. “It’s not her fault.”

“No, it’s not. But it is ours. Yours. Mine. Shane’s. I’m not saying that’s a defect in your character, Rick. Because I will have that same feeling. I feel it even now, every time she moves. Even if we pretend, say she’s yours, one day she’s going to realize she doesn’t look enough like you, like Carl, and start asking questions.” Lori sniffles and rubs away the tears that threaten. “And I have to tell her that I’m the reason her father died.”

“No. It’s not your fault.” 

Rick rises, moving to the closest point near her chair, fingers reaching through the chain link. Unable to resist him actually reaching for her for the first time in months, she brushes her fingers against his. The contact is both a comfort and a punishment.

“I share the blame, Rick. Maybe I wasn’t on that field, but we both knew he was broken, and we just kept thumping on the cracks until he shattered, didn’t we?”

He presses her fingertips against his. It traps her fingers against the fence, but she doesn’t feel uneasy.

“Didn’t we?” she urges. She knows that she can’t absolve Shane of responsibility in his own mental breakdown, but watching Rick fall apart the exact same way? They have to stop the festering infection of pretending it all didn’t happen before they all die of the poison within.

“Yeah.” Rick sobs, leaning his forehead against the metal. “The world started it, and we finished it.”

He cries, making more noise than she expects. The sound rips into her chest, tearing at heart and lungs and her very being. Grief. Mourning. A loss more profound than she can relate to where Shane is concerned, but she knows this sound. It’s how she cried, when Shane told her Rick was dead.

It’s how _Shane_ cried, head buried in her lap while he begged her not to leave him alone in the world and let him keep his brother’s family safe.

She edges the fingers of her free hand through the links of the fence, petting Rick’s hair as best she can.

“I’m so sorry, Rick,” she murmurs. “So very sorry.”

It takes an hour before he speaks again. She’s had to give up on petting his hair and scoot her chair even closer so her arm doesn’t cramp where he holds her hand as best he can. She’s surprised Hershel hasn’t fetched her.

Her own grief for Shane is much more abstract, born of years of friendly affection that made sex with him comforting when she felt so alone she might go crazy. But that’s one of her sins here. She never loved him. Her heart never made the sideways slide from Rick onto the man he called his brother.

As crazy as he became at the end, even when he insisted on his loving devotion, she’s still not sure that Shane actually loved her either. In the dark of the night, when she can’t sleep because her weak body aches, she knows it was _Rick_ he loved, not her.

Whether that love was the brotherly one he always professed, or something deeper that a man of Shane’s background would never openly profess about his married best friend, it was there. 

She was just an easy conduit for expressing it.

“I keep hearing his voice.”

“Yeah?” Lori knows the effect Rick’s describing in his broken, miserable tone. From the first night alone with Rick in the hospital, she experienced the same. Waking in the night or from a hazy daydream, thinking she heard Rick say something. The impossibility nearly drove her crazy, and that was when she still had hope to cling to.

“Not the angry one at the end. Like when we were in the patrol car. Or sometimes earlier than that.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know how the world works without him, Lori.”

If she’s entirely honest with herself, Lori doesn’t know how it does either. It’s been Rick-and-Shane as long as she’s known them both, since Rick’s younger brother dragged her to a college party and introduced her to them as a pair. Jeffrey called them the Siamese twins. Joined at the hip in everything they did.

Some of her friends even asked if she had to sleep with them both to keep one interested. They were that damned close in college. It’s a damned irony she could do without remembering right now.

“I think it works the same way ours did without you,” she says at last. “One day at a time, reminding ourselves of the good things to keep the darkness at bay. You could never be really gone, not as long as we kept Carl safe.”

Rick moves, getting to his knees. When he stares at her pregnant belly this time, she doesn’t feel uneasy.

“He isn’t gone, by that definition.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He loved Carl so damned much.” Rick lets her fingers go, finally, hands dropping to pick at his sweatpants.

“Yeah, he did.” Lori feels tears threaten, remembering the wounded expression Shane wore at the quarry when she snatched Carl away from his happy play in the water and ordered Shane to stay away from the boy.

“He killed Otis, you know. Made it sound almost easy. ‘One shot to the leg, Carl lives.’ Didn’t think I could make the same choice.”

“Could you?”

“It’s what I thought I was doing that night.”

“He wouldn’t have hurt Carl.” Her? Maybe, if he was really far gone and she wasn’t pregnant. Rick? Obviously, he could, because the failed trip to get rid of Randall and the night in the field showed they could boil over into violence.

But never Carl.

“No, he wouldn’t have.” Rick bows his head. “Carl saw what happened. He is afraid I’m capable of hurting anyone now.”

Their boy, even now, doesn’t seem aware that Shane broke down the same way his father has, crushed by needing to survive in a world that clashes with a lifetime of training to protect and serve, not defend and kill.

“We’ll talk to him. Make him understand what happened.” Lori owes them all that much. None of the others know Rick, not like she does. With Shane dead, she’s the only person on the planet that knows him inside and out. Just as she knows she was safe even in Shane’s darkest hour, she knows now that she’s safe from Rick.

Carl’s safety was never in question, not in her mind.

She looks back up at the porch, where she can still see Hershel. She thinks he might be shelling peas brought back from some farm or another. “I’m going to talk to Hershel about letting you out of here.”

“No.”

The refusal, spoken firmly in a way Rick rarely speaks toward her, makes her startle.

He manages a faint smile, looking apologetic. “I stay here until Carl feels safe, Lori. Not a minute before he is ready for me to step outside that gate.”

“Okay.” Guilt flickers in her gut again. No matter how many times she hears that Shane and Rick made their own choices, that is never going away. Even if she doesn’t mourn the man the way Rick and Carl do, she aches for them, and for the future when she has to tell her daughter why she has no father.

“You shouldn’t spend all day out here,” he says softly. “But it’s nice, for the company.”

She smiles hesitantly. “Being alone up on watch didn’t help you get better.”

“No, it didn’t. Kept hearing Shane. All the time, like a damned radio I couldn’t turn off. Never thought he would end up my Jiminy Cricket.”

She reaches in the drawstring bag and moves to flip the turnstile bowl around. There’s room, just barely, to fit a paperback book in with the bowl with the tea bottle Rick hasn’t taken yet.

Curiosity finally brings him to go look. He snorts. “A girlie murder mystery?”

Lori smiles, feeling a flicker of relief that he seems amused. “I figured your usual favorites might be a little too heavy.” And probably remind him too clearly of Shane. They loved those damned crime novels, picking them apart on what the author got right and wrong.

Rick flips through the pages and nods. “Maybe I’ll give it a try. It’s set in Georgia, at least.”

“I’ll bring you lunch in a little while, okay?” she asks, folding up her chair and putting her tea bottle back in the drawstring bag for easier carrying.

“Sounds good. That soup yesterday was real good. Liked the cornbread too.” He shuffles his feet, looking at her belly again. “You think I would make a good uncle?”

Lori smiles, feeling hope in a way she probably has no right to. “Yeah, Rick. I think you would be a damn good uncle.”

She’s almost out of earshot when he calls her name.

“Can you ask Hershel to come down for a while?”

“I will.”

She watches as he wanders back to his little pallet, the book still in his hand. When she reaches the porch, she tells Hershel what he asked.

“That’s a good sign, right? That he’s letting himself grieve?”

The older man nods, hands busy with peas as she thought. “I’ll go down when I finish this up. Maybe take a little reading material of my own to share.”

He glances to the worn old Bible on the wicker table near his chair.

“He’s a good man, Hershel,” she says. “He just lost his way.”

“I know he is, Lori. He wouldn’t have fallen apart like that if his mind and heart didn’t know what he did was wrong.” 

His gaze goes out to the kennel, where Rick is reading, curled up like a child on the pallet. The fact that he’s wiping at his face periodically tells Lori he is probably crying again.

“Once he forgives himself, maybe your boy will be able to forgive him too. Right now, they’re feeding off each other’s pain.”

She doesn’t reply, but she hopes Hershel is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a little more intense than I intended it to be originally, but I felt like a view that wasn't an outsider was needed for Rick's breakdown - and future recovery.


	9. Trusting Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While looking for signs of Sophia, Daryl, Carol, and Beth come across a group of travelers far from home.

**October 6, 2010**

Daryl drives through the gate, braking to wait for Beth to come hop in the truck with him and Carol. Now that he isn't hiding his ongoing search for Sophia behind the veneer of keeping an eye out for Randall's old group, he takes Beth along too. She needs the practice, and they'll likely find a walker or two for the anatomy lessons.

They're southwest today, headed for Haralson. They spent two days clearing Senoia this week, everything but going back to the farm. No one really wants to venture on what became a graveyard for their people in more ways than one.

It doesn't take long to get to Haralson, since he's less cautious now that the bandits are gone. It doesn't mean there won't be more of them out there, but Daryl's willing to gamble a bit. Winter's coming, and he won't be able to live with himself if he hasn't done absolutely everything to find Sophia.

"There's not a lot there," Beth explains as they near the town. "Just a few churches, a post office, a Dollar General, and a feed store."

"Any of the churches have food pantries?"

It's another reason the Greene girls split between the two run groups. They grew up here, so they know the area around Senoia better than the rest. Maggie and Glenn are still pushing into Newnan for supplies, risking the larger town for better payoffs with T-Dog and Karen. 

No one knows how cold the winter will be. That's the unpredictability of Georgia.

"I think some gathered for pantries but didn't run them."

Daryl slows on the highway as the familiar yellow of the Dollar General comes into view. "Anything set you on alert?"

Both women study the area intently as he pulls in. He leaves the truck in gear.

"It's been accessed, maybe by those bandits." Carol says thoughtfully. "Smash and grab seems their style."

Beth leans forward, studying the spray of glass both inside and out. "There's dirt and leaves over the glass, so it's been a while. And I agree with Carol. If you just needed in, you would break a door in, not smash all the windows out."

He nods and pulls the truck between an abandoned box truck and the building itself to keep their presence unnoticeable. "Men like that might miss some useful stuff. They're living in the moment, not planning ahead."

Carol nudges Daryl to exit the truck, so he slides out. Carol follows and they meet Beth.

"I'm guessing no walkers or people," Carol adds, giggling. 

Daryl and Beth laugh. The stray cat stares them from the remains of the door, flicking its long tail. "Looks like he owns the place."

"Guess he probably does by now. Hopefully, he'll let us browse." 

The cat stares until they're close before rising and strolling into the darkened store. "Seems like permission." Daryl keeps his crossbow ready as his boots crunch through glass. 

The cat's calmness is accurate for the emptiness of the store. Whoever went through the place destroyed as much as they took. He grimaces as they begin a methodical search, each taking an aisle.

"Well, apparently even murderous assholes are afraid of the feminine hygiene aisle," Beth calls out when they've been there about half an hour.

Daryl hears Carol laugh from the aisle between him and Beth as he kneels to salvage a couple of packages of socks. "I don't think your dad will appreciate you imitating Daryl's language."

Beth scoffs. "Please. Have you ever listened to Maggie when Daddy's out of earshot? And they were assholes." There's the sound of shuffling. "Hey, any extra bags around? I'm gonna need more than my duffel."

"Saw a display of the reusable bags by checkout," Daryl says. His pack is half full of packaged clothing, because no one likes the idea of used underclothing or socks. "I'll go get them."

He snags some hair ties and a brush off a shelf on his way and tucks them in his pack. The ladies are always needing the tiny things and losing them just as much. The pause is why he spots movement near the door without being seen.

Daryl readies his crossbow, easing a bolt into the mechanism since he carries the crossbow unloaded when it's on his back. The whistle to alert Beth and Carol is a birdcall. Movement behind him in the store ceases, but the kid creeping toward the door doesn't alert to the sound.

Because it's definitely a kid, probably Carl's age, and a girl at that. She's careful and alert, but her youth shows when she doesn't clear the building. Instead, she eases toward the heavily destroyed food section. To give her credit, she's probably as quiet as he is, and she does keep her knife handy.

When she returns to his line of sight, her pack bulges with baby supplies. She's just outside the door when a male voice calls out. "There you are. I told you we could do the run when we got back."

"Gracie is hungry now, not later. We couldn't get her to settle." 

The male speaker walks into view, and the girl doesn't look scared or worried, more defiant. He's got a dark colored woven cap over long hair, and a beard obscures most of his features. While the girl is petite, like Beth, her companion isn't much taller.

"Fine. You found food for her or just diapers?"

"Both. Whoever trashed the place just threw all the baby stuff in the floor."

"Alright. Let's get back. We didn't have any luck on finding a secure place for tonight, so we're going to keep moving. We might make it to Fort Benning even."

"Gracie won't cry so much if she's not hungry."

"It's still safer to keep moving. C'mon. Olivia's half out of her mind wondering where you slipped off to."

The kid nods and trots off, but the man eyes the building with narrow eyes for a moment. Daryl doesn't think he can be seen, but he holds stock still, just in case. The man takes a few steps forward, boots crunching the glass like theirs did earlier.

The damned stray cat meows and saunters into view, making the man laugh even as he eases his hands off the knives at his waist. 

"Not going to take any more of your treasures, kitty." The cat responds to being directly spoken to by rubbing along the man's legs. He crouches and pets the ginger animal.

"Gotta get back before they leave me to make my own way south, pretty girl."

The cat meows again, butting its head into the man's hands. 

"Dammit, you best be glad we're all tender hearted people." He lifts the cat up and tucks it into his vest. With another look around the store, he shrugs and jogs off in the direction the girl went.

"Should we have said anything?" Beth asks, looking worried. "It sounds like they have a baby."

Daryl eases to the door, looking for any sign of others. "Didn't want to spook the girl. And the man? Looks like a hippie or something, but he moves like military."

With the length of his hair and beard, the stranger hasn't been active duty a good long while, but Daryl remembers how Merle's body language changed after the Marines.

"So she and the baby and whoever Olivia is should be okay?" Carol's frowning, looking toward the area of the store the girl raided.

"Better off than many groups. If we see them again, maybe we try to introduce ourselves." 

"He did take the cat when he could have left it." Carol grabs the shopping bags as Daryl disengages the bolt from his crossbow. "I'll help with the feminine aisle. Girl's got a good idea. We might want to look for formula and supplies."

"Gonna keep an eye out. Stand watch." As much as he doesn't have the instinctive reaction to avoid these people, like how Randall made his skin crawl despite his youth, he doesn't want to be taken unaware.

Moving to stand against the long dead coolers, he knows his dark clothing will blend in. The idea of other survivors out there, ones who aren't bandits, gives him hope. Maybe he should have spoken up. A group caring for a baby and willing to take a cat would take in a lost girl, too.

When they've piled all they want to salvage near the door, he eases outside and brings the truck around.

"Do we still check the area?" Carol asks as she puts the last bag in the bed of the truck.

"Yeah. They're either long gone or they're not. Don't seem the shoot first type." Even so, he checks his gun, happy to note the other two do the same. "Let's have a poke around."

Finding the strangers ends up easy. Their damned RV isn't any more sturdy than Dale's old behemoth was. The men looking at the engine take cover as Daryl's truck appears.

"Roll your window down and call out to 'em," he tells Beth. "See if they need more baby stuff."

She cranks on the window and smiles brightly as she yells out, "Howdy. Y'all the folks looking for baby things a ways back?"

A curly haired man exchanges a look with someone Daryl can't see and steps out away from the RV. "We might be."

"Well, we finished clearing the store. You got more need than we do."

"That's awfully kind of you. We don't have much in trade."

He's wary, which Daryl approves of. Like the other two, he appears clean and healthy, with a thick beard kept well groomed.

"Got information about the world around, I imagine." Carol leans over Beth's lap to make her voice carry. "You aren't from Georgia."

While the RV's Virginia plates could be misleading, Carol's right that his accent lacks the twang of Georgia but a lot of the quality Daryl's mama called 'uppity' but just shows an education to Daryl's ears.

"No, ma'am, I am not. We're heading to Fort Benning. One of our people has a brother stationed there. Took us a few months to make our way down from Virginia."

"It's as bad there as here?"

"Yeah. Haven't seen a city survive yet. DC is a roiling mass of the undead and beset by lawlessness, so we left."

"We haven't gone as far south as Benning, but honestly, we haven't seen any military since the napalmed Atlanta."

"They used napalm in a major city?" The man sounds astounded.

"When the refugee camps fell, yeah. Watched it happen from a highway outside the city." Carol's fingers clinch, and Daryl links his with hers in comfort. He and Merle missed that experience, finding the camp later.

"Damn. Bet Benning is a dead end then, but we need to know for sure. Got to at least try for family's sake."

"Need to be more careful down here. Got some lawless types of our own."

The man grimaces as he looks back at the RV. "Noted. She was on her own a while. Developed some bad habits."

Daryl nudges Carol. "Slide into the driver's seat while I give them some of the baby stuff."

She nods. "Maybe one of the bags from the hygiene aisle, too."

He eases the door open and goes to the back of the truck. "How old is the baby?" No sense giving them anything she's outgrown.

"Six months, as best we can guess. She was with a group that attacked our community up north."

Damn. Kid's an orphan, although at least they seem dedicated to her. Daryl keeps an eye out as he shuffles a few things around.

"What's wrong with the RV?" he asks, taking the two bags to sit halfway between him and the other man.

"Not sure. Stopping running. None of us are mechanics."

Daryl hesitates, but they have at least two kids. He looks toward the truck and sees Carol nod. "Can take a look for you. Might not be able to fix it, but probably can tell you what crapped out."

The look he gets is definitely assessing, but Daryl knows he's less rough around the edges now than in the past.

"Thanks." He's offered a hand when he's close enough. "I'm Aaron. Fellow keeping out of sight is Paul."

Daryl nods, flicking his eyes toward the man he saw earlier. "Daryl. Ladies are Beth and Carol."

Aaron goes to fetch the bags while Daryl takes a look. When he gets to the fuel filter, he grimaces. 

"Beth? Bring me the toolbox behind the seat."

The blonde hops out, with Carol leaning forward so she can access the toolbox. She brings it over, eyeing the two men curiously. He knows she can hear what he does, quiet voices inside the RV. He ignores it, explaining the steps as he goes to Beth, although he knows the two men are listening intently.

When he gets the fuel filter released, he sighs. "You got some bad fuel somewhere, or the owner didn't maintain it. Any chance they put extra parts on board? Some do."

It's Paul that goes to open a panel, rummaging around and coming up with a box he brings back to Daryl. Daryl gets the filter switched out. "Got any diesel? Gotta prime the filter."

Paul brings him a fuel can. It doesn't take long to get the filter's housing reinstalled. "Try it now."

Aaron heads for the driver seat. Once they have the RV running, Daryl lets Beth squirt the waterless cleaner from the toolbox on his hands. "Gonna stink like diesel. Shoulda wore gloves."

"I'm sure we'll survive til you can get washed up." Beth smirks at him as she wipes off tools and replaces them in the toolbox before heading back to the truck.

"You were very precise in teaching her," Aaron says thoughtfully.

"Never know when she might need to know something."

"She isn't related to you."

Daryl scoffs. "Don't take a genius to draw that conclusion. Her daddy is back with our people, but we need his medical experience there. Falls to me to make sure she knows how the world works now."

Aaron nods after a moment, looking to where Carol has never left the truck's driver's seat. "And her?"

"We're looking for her daughter. About the girl's age that came and got the supplies. Blonde. Name's Sophia. Got separated from us some time ago and we've been looking ever since."

"I would normally say a girl that age doesn't stand a chance, but Enid spent months on her own. Never say never these days."

"I'll let you get back on the road."

Aaron nods as Paul heads into the RV. "If Benning is still standing, your people should come in. They might have resources to find her."

Daryl gives him the barest smile. "Benning is a pipe dream. If the military was still standing, we would have seen evidence of it. But I understand needing to look for family." He considers mentioning Merle, but his brother's asshole nature won't endear him to people like these.

"And if Benning fell? Larger numbers are safer."

Daryl thinks it over and thinks of the baby and the damned stray cat being carried off in Paul's vest. "Go up by Sharpsburg. I go through there at least once a week."

Aaron nods and says goodbye. As he disappears into the RV, Daryl prays he judged the men rightly on his way back to the truck.

His people shouldn't pay the price if he fails in judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say that characters could come from anywhere/when, right? AU for certain now. 😉
> 
> This date is the day of the Claimer kidnapping for the King County group. We're in the home stretch for reuniting the groups.
> 
> No Grimes update this chapter. Maybe next.


	10. Haystack the Size of Georgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a kitchen table on a peanut farm, Carol finds one of the notes Sophia left behind.

**October 15, 2010**

While they haven't come across anymore unfriendlies, Daryl's always wary of long and winding driveways leading to farms like the Greene Farm. Even if the residents aren't lawless, they could still prove dangerous while protecting their property from interlopers. But some paperwork in town lists this place as a peanut farm, and he doesn't want to pass up the opportunity for boosting their protein stores for the winter.

He parks the truck in an overgrowth of shrubbery before they come into sight of the farm. They'll scout on foot to see if the farm's occupied and return for the truck if it isn't. Carol and Beth steady their bows, sliding them into their backs with bow slings. 

Daryl leads them further into the woods before angling back toward the farm. It doesn't take them long to clear the farm and farmhouse, although the body rolled in the rug on the back porch gives them pause initially. With clear signs she turned before being put down, they proceed into the house, finding nothing alarming. 

He retrieves the truck, and they clear what surviving produce they can from the garden before harvesting several bushel baskets of peanuts from the closest field.

"We're coming back, right?" Carol asks, wiping at her face with a bandana. Despite it being October, the days are still warm enough to make harvesting crops a sweaty task.

"Definitely. Might get tired of peanuts, but damn, someone left a big harvest behind. There was a stone grinder on the back porch we need to take for making peanut butter." Daryl looks toward the house. "Freezer was still running. Even if there's not much in it, I say we take it with us."

"It means rearranging a bit," Beth says, eyeing the truck bed.

"Well, if we're coming back anyway, we can leave some behind," Carol states matter-of-factly.

That decided, Daryl backs the truck up to the back porch. Beth's right that they don't have enough room, and he wishes he thought about it sooner. What's done is done, but more importantly, the freezer is full of meat and past years' garden produce.

"I gotta pee before we leave," Beth announces and disappears back into the house.

"I'll check the refrigerator to see if it needs clearing." Carol follows her, while Daryl eyes the rug and walker. 

There's little odor left, because once the virus leaves these poor bastards alone, their bodies waste away quickly. It reminds Daryl of everything he read about mummies as a kid, and it's weird to see in the humid Georgia climate. Give this one another month, and he thinks she would crumble to dust at a touch.

"Daryl?" Carol's voice is shaky, and he responds with alarm, leaving the porch for the kitchen. Beth is equally worried, appearing from the bathroom.

Carol's hands are shaking as she hands him a sheet of folded notepaper. He opens it.

_SP is safe. Going west as planned. KC goal if not found._

"It's her handwriting, Daryl. And that bear? She draws them on everything, like a signature."

His hands tremble at the first sign in months that he's not crazy for thinking the girl survived the woods. He scans the words again. "Last place she knew we were going was Fort Benning, and she didn't know about the farm."

Benning isn't really west of where they are, but it's the only thing he can think of from the cryptic message.

"Hey, guys? Someone here was hurt." 

Beth goes back to the bathroom, bringing back the trash can. The white wicker basket is full of discarded bandages, blood and bodily fluids dried dark on the gauze.

"There's a pile of clothes in the bathroom, and some are a smaller size like me or Carl would wear."

Daryl investigates the dirty clothes, finding men's camo pants and an olive green shirt that would fit a man bigger than he is. The smaller clothing looks like a boy's, until he sees the socks. He plucks them out of the pile and shows them to Carol.

"These were hers, right?" 

Carol takes them, hands trembling. "Yes. She loves rainbows."

He looks around the house with a critical eye now, seeking any sign of when Sophia was here. That's unsuccessful, but the other clues trickle in.

"Think they were here a few days, maybe. Slept on the couches from the looks of the blankets and pillows there. Cooked a bit. There's discarded food cans and wrapping like from the freezer meat. All the nonperishables are gone and some clothing missing. Wish they dated that note."

How long have they been a handful of miles away from finding the girl? And who is with her? Maybe they didn't know the date. Without the sturdy Timex watch he wears, he wouldn't know the date for sure.

"Daryl? If Sophia made it this far, do you think maybe Merle did, too?" Carol asks.

He freezes, eyes going back to the bandages in that wicker basket. Someone changed dressings more than once here. Depending on when they were here, it's possible his brother's amputation wasn't healed.

"Maybe."

Carol tucks the small socks into her pocket, regardless of them being grubby. "Would he look after her, if he found her?"

Daryl almost answers with a rude affirmative, but it's Carol asking, so he thinks it over. If he's honest, he isn't entirely sure, but at the same time, Merle would see the girl as a clue to finding Daryl.

"Sober? Yeah, I think he would, if nothing else because bringing her back would mean the group had to take him, too."

"And if he's high?"

Daryl hates to shrug. "I don't know." Merle's unpredictability while under the influence is something of many of Daryl's nightmares. "He wouldn't be a danger to her, not directly, but he makes stupid decisions when he's high."

Like getting himself handcuffed on a roof and cutting off his own fucking hand to escape.

He sighs when Carol looks near tears and pulls her in for a hug. "We'll find her. We have a clue now, instead of looking randomly." 

Sophia's already far west of where he estimated her to be, just by being here. He concentrated his search closer to Senoia, never thinking she might not be alone. At least the note shows she's in reasonably good shape, to leave clues behind.

"Let's get Beth back and unload the truck. Tell the others what we found, and then we'll make our way down to Columbus."

Carol nods, drying her tears and heading for the truck. 

Beth looks at him for a minute, as serious as he's ever seen the girl. "Is your brother a good man?"

It's the question Daryl's asked himself all his life. "He wants to be," is how he answers Beth. "But mostly he's a foolish one."

She surprises him by smiling. "My mama always said God looks after fools and small children."

Daryl can't help barking out a laugh. "Damn, girl, then that explains the state of the world, because looking out for Merle is probably a full time job for God and all his angels."

Amused and hopeful, they join Carol in the truck. He watches Beth slip her hand into Carol's even as he's shifting gears, feeling grateful for the teenager's kind nature.

When they pass through Sharpsburg, they see a familiar sight: an RV with Virginia plates. 

Carol turns hopeful eyes his way. "They were going to Fort Benning."

Daryl doesn't tell her that them being back north in the town he mentioned isn't a good sign, but he pulls over anyway. The short, long-haired man emerges and greets Daryl friendly enough.

"Y'all must have just arrived this morning," Daryl says. He and the ladies went through Sharpsburg on their way to the peanut farm.

Paul nods. "About an hour ago." He sighs, looking over his shoulder. "Fort Benning is gone. Hell, most of Columbus is gone. Wasn't napalm there. More explosive, enough to turn the city to rubble. Guessing someone decided to make sure they didn't release that many walkers on the world."

It confirms what Daryl's suspected, that the big military base has to be gone or there would be signs of them, especially this close. It makes him uneasy, because his only clue for Sophia leads that way. He has no clue what KC might mean.

"We found a sign today that Carol's daughter traveled that way."

Paul looks sympathetic as Aaron joins them. "If she did, she had to head elsewhere."

Apparently, Aaron overheard Daryl. "Wait a minute. Didn't you say the girl's name was Sophia? What was her last name?"

Whatever reason Aaron's asking seems to trigger Paul, because he nods. "Did it start with a P?"

The damned note. It doesn't list Sophia's name, it lists her _initials_.

"Yeah, it did. Y'all find notes?" He motions for Carol to slide out of the truck. She hurries forward, the now crumpled paper in her hands.

"A few on our way here from Columbus," Aaron says, taking the notepaper. "Just like this one, same lavender paper. Closest one to here was the pharmacy in Greenville."

"Did you bring any of them?" Carol sounds excited, and Daryl doesn't blame her.

Paul disappears into the RV and returns with a battered little piece of purple paper. Carol takes it, showing Daryl the words and handwriting are the same as the first.

"That's from a bunch of cars jammed in a highway intersection. It was duct taped next to a cartoon bear drawn in shoe polish. Since the first initial was an S, Aaron thought it might be something you needed to see. I can lead you to the others, if you like?"

"I would be grateful, but you don't have to," Carol begins.

Paul waves off the dismissal. "If Enid or Gracie were missing, I would hope someone would help us find them."

Daryl decides to cement his trust in these strangers. "How about we take your people to our place first? We need to leave Beth with her family and unload the truck. Got strong fencing and a doctor."

The two men exchange a look. "We have a doctor, too, but a safe place for the kids would be appreciated."

"Follow us." 

Everyone loads back into the vehicles. As they head for the compound, Daryl feels truly hopeful as he hears Carol sharing the latest note with Beth. More notes means they traveled successfully and stayed alive.

He prays one of them, somewhere, explains where they went after Columbus was a dead end. What the hell does KC mean? Surely they aren't trying to go out west, past the Mississippi and into the city that divides the plains from the mountains.

Bringing an RV full of people into the compound causes less drama than bringing Karen and Noah did. The others trust Daryl's judgement, and he hopes like hell the vibe he gets that these guys are safe isn't misplaced. Even as the two women, introduced as Olivia and Denise, exit the RV with Enid and baby Gracie, Daryl looks toward the kennels.

"Carol? Can I have one of the notes?" he asks. She looks puzzled, determined to do her part in settling the newcomers in despite wanting to be back on the road. But she hands over both notes when she sees Rick in the distance. "I'll be right back."

As Daryl strides down to the kennels, he hears exclamations of excitement behind him and knows Carol and Beth have shared their discovery.

"You're smiling too much for it to be about the strangers," Rick says once he's in range, "unless it is due to the baby."

Daryl glances back to where the infant, who looks maybe six months old, is perched in Aaron's arms. "As much as she is a reason to be happy, no."

He doesn't put the notes in the turnstile. Rick's been more stable lately, between a tag team of visitors who at least keep him from being isolated, but these are Carol's only connection to her missing daughter. When he unfolds them and holds them where Rick can see, he watches the former deputy read slowly before sliding to the concrete.

"Are they real?" Rick asks softly. 

Daryl thinks over the cracks in the man's psyche that are slowly knitting back together. He's seen a lot of it, spending an hour each evening after watch to update the man as if he were still actively part of the group instead of sequestered for his and everyone's safety. Lori sets a schedule for everyone willing, and Daryl prefers the time when day slides to night.

"Carol says it's her handwriting. We found one at the peanut farm, along with signs she and someone else were there for a couple of days. The other note is one the newcomers brought back from their trip to Columbus."

"It's like a damned miracle." Rick's crying now, and Daryl understands the impulse. If he feels this guilty about not finding Sophia, how much of it eats at Rick, who lost her?

"Columbus and Benning are a bust. Bombed worse than Atlanta. Carol and I are going to go follow the trail the Virginians found and see if they left any clue where they went after Columbus."

Rick wipes at his eyes. "You think Andrea found her? I never let you go back to look for her."

"Don't think whoever is with her is a woman." At Rick's look of alarm, Daryl continues. "Found a bunch of discarded bandages. One of the places Paul saw signs of them passing was a pharmacy a few towns south."

Rick scratches at his scraggly beard. "You're hoping it was Merle."

"Yeah. Would make sense. She knew him, and he's definitely skilled enough to get by with only one hand."

"I hope it is. Get your brother and Sophia back at the same time? That would be the perfect ending."

Daryl folds the notes back up carefully. "Gonna go see if they got it all unloaded. We found a freezer still running and brought it back."

He gets three steps away. "Daryl?" He turns to see Rick is standing again, smiling weakly. "Be careful. You and Carol both gone? Group would fall apart without y'all."

Nodding, Daryl goes to get everything set up for a search that finally won't be looking for a needle in a haystack the size of Georgia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Daryl, close but no cigar on who was with Sophia. Luckily for him, Merle found Shane and Sophia, eh?
> 
> While I considered having Rick (or even Carl) figure out that KC is their home, it would mean missing out on that little cowboy Sophia drew down in Columbus. 😉
> 
> I know some wanted Aaron and Eric, but sadly, that part of the war with the Saviors remained the same. Aaron, Gracie, Enid, Paul, Olivia, and Denise will be the only Alexandria and Hilltop survivors for this series.


	11. Reunion, Part 1 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl, Carol, and Paul make their way to King County, where they cross paths with one of their missing family members who leads them to the other.

** October 15, 2010 **

As much as his sense of security tells him to leave someone in the truck, Daryl can’t bring himself to leave Carol behind, and Paul knows where the note inside the pharmacy is. He lays a gentle hand between Carol’s shoulder blades as she stands immobile in front of the pharmacy and the comical bear drawn in shoe polish. The weather’s taken a bit out of the jaunty fellow, but he’s still recognizable.

Paul’s just inside the building, having scouted the building to make sure nothing unfriendly lurks inside. His smile is reassuring. “The note is in an empty box of Big Red gum,” he says.

Carol makes a sound that makes Daryl suspect she might finally cry, but she takes a deep breath and follows Paul inside to the now empty snacks display. In the empty box of cinnamon chewing gum, another piece of lavender paper is perched. Carol unfolds it and reads the same message they’ve already seen.

She looks around the ransacked pharmacy. “Any signs of them here?” she asks.

Paul shrugs. “I don’t know them well enough to track that.”

Daryl, remembering his brother’s checkered history with narcotics, steps around the counter. Overlaying the mess made by prior scavengers, he can see footprints. It’s a combat boot, definitely a grown man’s size.

The narcotics cabinet is a smashed mess, which could have been Merle, but could be any of a number of scavengers in the months since the outbreak. He drifts through the rest of the medication, which is mostly undisturbed. Some antibiotics are missing, plus some of the non-narcotic pain relievers. More telling, the dust around where a large book was once stored doesn’t match the rest of the dust in the area.

“Can’t say for sure, but someone took the PDR out of here, I think, along with antibiotics and some painkillers,” he says as he returns to the pharmacy itself. Carol and Paul are inspecting the individual shelves.

“Someone cleared out everything in the first aid aisle. Not even a box of regular bandaids left behind,” Paul remarks.

Daryl checks, following a set of footprints in the grit in the floor, especially near the empty water display. The boot prints match those in the first aid aisle and behind the counter. “Definitely a grown man came through, but whether it was before or after Sophia, I don’t know.”

Carol’s quiet, staring at an overturned display of Beanie Babies. They’ve been moved aside from where they fell, as if someone was looking through the plush critters. “Do you think maybe he got her a toy?” she asks softly.

Daryl studies the little animals intently, wishing he knew what was missing. Merle just might, if he thought it was an easy fix to comfort a clinging child. “Wouldn’t say he wouldn’t” is what he tells Carol, leaving out any reminders that his brother’s a short tempered asshole more often than not.

“Where’s the next note?” Carol asks Paul. 

The other man thinks it over. “Gas station next town south on Highway 27. Highway does a bit of a dogleg through the town to head south. Then there’s a note every little town all the way to Columbus.”

Back in the truck, Daryl heads south on 27, taking care not to speed like he really wants to. There haven’t been a lot of walkers, probably due to whatever they bombed the hell out of Columbus with, but just a single stray is enough to crash the truck if he hits it at higher speeds.

Warm Springs. Shiloh. Waverly Hall. Ellerslie. It’s a damned tour of the tiny towns of nowhere southwest Georgia, all with some glass fronted building and that dancing bear. He keeps collecting notes and adding them to Carol’s collection, but they don’t seem to have entered any of the buildings that he can tell. Before they reach 80 is the pileup Paul indicates he took the note from. The bear on the back window of the F350 wrecker is nearly unrecognizable due to weather, a damaged criss-cross of duct tape flapping next to it.

“The notes are the same this far. How far into Columbus do we go?” Carol asks. He can hear an undertone of fear in her voice.

“We tried to come in on 80. Lost the freeway when it was just not there anymore and backtracked through a subdivision to find 27 to go back north. Didn’t go much further once we realized the city was bombed,” Paul explains. “Too much risk of getting the RV stuck.”

Daryl eases the truck around the jam, glad it’s sturdy enough to take the narrow shoulder easily. He can see evidence of the RV squeezing through not that long ago in the deep tire tracks just off the shoulder’s pavement. “We go until we can’t go anymore, I guess.”

That point is near 80, because like Paul said, it’s gone, bombed out of existence in a way that shocks Daryl. Atlanta was napalmed, but it was haphazard and didn’t do this sort of damage. The capital city burned more than crumbled. Columbus looks like a scene out of some warzone.

“Daryl!” Carol’s excitement shows in her voice. “Look!”

When he looks where she points, he can see a weather-worn but still existing bear drawn on the back window of an overturned bus. Unlike all the other shoe polish graffiti, this bear has a companion, and the words ‘Going to KC’ arched above the figures like a rainbow.

“Well, fuck me running, that’s what KC means,” he mutters, which makes Paul choke on laughter and Carol frown until it clicks for her too.

Next to that damned dancing bear is a stick figure with a cowboy hat and a badge about as big as his skinny torso.

“King County. Fucking King County.” Daryl gets out and peels away the duct tape, retrieving another lavender note and passing it to Carol to unfold. The message is longer this time, more personalized, and the handwriting more unsteady.

_Columbus is gone and it’s not safe to stay here. Please still be alive, Mama, and with the people I left you with. I hope they didn’t lose you, too. I’m okay and not lost anymore._

Daryl can only hold Carol as she clings to his vest, face tucked against his chest as she cries soundlessly. Paul rescues the note from where Carol dropped it, but doesn't read it. He folds it carefully and eases it to where Daryl can take it. He backs away, climbing nimbly to the top of a wrecked SUV and keeping watch.

When Daryl thinks Carol's tears have stopped, he guides her slowly back to the truck. Paul joins them, sliding into the passenger seat.

"Can you get the map out of the glove box?" Daryl asks. Carol's sitting there numbly, and while he thinks he understands her upset, he isn't going to comment and maybe get it wrong.

Paul hands him the battered Georgia map. Daryl unfolds it against the steering wheel, scanning the counties south of Atlanta, because he remembers Shane talking about driving north to the city.

"There's like 150 counties in Georgia," he explains when Paul looks puzzled. "Damned if I can remember where they all are, and the folks from King County never talked about the name of the towns there."

"Ah."

Daryl finds it, a squatty shaped county between Atlanta and Macon. "Be best to have a native guide, but the only one mobile is a thirteen-year-old boy I'm not taking on a road trip."

Carol's still not talking, but she's watching as he maps the most obvious route from where they are to King County. Her hand is chilly as she wraps it around his bicep, even through his thin sleeve, and he covers it with his free hand, estimating the distance with the daylight left.

"About two hours before. We should still make it by dark, but it means a night away from your people. You good with that, Paul?" Daryl doesn't want to drive back to the compound, but he will if the man needs to get back to his family.

"Sounds like the first solid clue you've had for months. They'll understand, and I did warn them it could be overnight if the trail got hot."

"Alright. I'm aiming for the more southerly route here, through Thomaston. I think they would have flagged the intersection up near Warm Springs if they went back that way."

He hands the map to Paul, who looks along the route and nods. Daryl gets the truck in gear and gets the truck turned around. Halfway to Thomaston, Carol finally speaks.

"She doesn't think I'm still alive."

Daryl stops the truck so abruptly it's a good thing his passengers are wearing seat belts. "Can you drive stick shift?"

Paul nods and slips out of the passenger side while Daryl lifts Carol bodily into his lap and shoves himself across the bench seat. The bearded man gets them back on the road, while Daryl holds Carol close.

Daryl presses a kiss to her forehead. "You aren't the same mama you were then," he says softly. "We'll find her and you can prove to her what kind of survivor you are."

He's not sure the girl will recognize Carol at all. He knows he wouldn't, if he separated from the group back then and found them now. The Carol her daughter knew was a survivor, but of the basest sort of life. She took all that hidden strength that kept her and Sophia alive despite Ed and funneled it into being the badass she was meant to be.

It doesn't surprise him that Carol falls asleep an hour after they leave Columbus. They keep stopping when they see the messages, with Paul hopping out to retrieve the notes. None of the new ones are as detailed as the one in Columbus, with the language returning to the almost terse tone from before.

Paul studies one just before they cross into King County. "Can I see the one that upset Carol?"

Daryl hands it over. Paul reads it and stares out the window for a minute. "I think she formulated the Columbus note. It's emotional and a little rambling, like you expect from a homesick teenage girl. But the others sound more like code. That's the adult she's with. Military training, maybe first responder. It's too concise."

"My brother was a Marine."

Paul looks at the highway ahead after he returns the notes. "It's a good sized county. Where do we start looking?"

Daryl tries his best to think like Merle. "Sheriff's department, maybe, or Rick's house. Rick was in uniform when they met back before we got separated. That would stick in his head."

The other man nods and starts down the highway again. "At least the sheriff's department should be easy to find."

It's true, and Daryl shakes Carol awake as they pull into the parking lot.

"Hey, darlin', need you awake."

"We're here?" she asks, looking around the unfamiliar surroundings. He should have woken her sooner.

"Sheriff's department. See if there's any sign anyone's been here since Rick left. If not, then we'll see if we can find Rick's place."

Armed, they check all the doors, only to find that everything is locked tight. There's a single dead walker mostly decayed inside a fence. 

"He's in uniform. Think he might have keys?" Paul muses.

"Or we could just find a phone book somewhere," Daryl suggests. "Rick and his buddy cleared out the station."

Carol laughs tiredly at Paul's expression. "Daryl's old school in his research."

"Works for me. Where to start looking… got incoming." Paul goes on alert, and they all seek cover.

It's too late, because they've been spotted. The big black SUV pulls up alongside the truck, and the driver's side window lowers for Daryl to spot his brother's grinning face.

"Took you long enough to grow a brain and come looking, baby brother. Done searched all over hell's half acre looking for you."

Daryl steps out of cover. Despite the insulting words, Merle sounds the happiest Daryl's heard in years. "Wouldn't need to be looking if you weren't a dumbass in the first place."

Merle opens the door, stepping out, pulling him into a rib-cracking bear hug. Daryl can see he has a passenger in the front, a grim faced black man who doesn't move to exit the SUV. He can't see into the backseat, since the windows are tinted nearly black.

"I see you got the mouse with you. Don't recognize the JC wannabe, but you're missing a few strays." Merle tilts his chin toward the man in the vehicle. "Morgan, why don't you radio the house and tell them we found a few lost lambs. Ask Chonne if Spitfire is back from checking her trotlines."

The man leans forward to take the radio mike, sweeping his gaze over Carol and Paul behind Daryl. "This the lady we been looking for, Merle?"

"Yeah, this is Spitfire's mama. Call it in."

"You've got Sophia?" Carol asks, voice cracking. "She's okay?"

"Girl's as tough as a pine knot, mouse. She's just fine. Out checking her trotlines this evening. We don't bring the kids into town after a run-in with some bastards that thought kids were a commodity for sale."

Daryl's joy at hearing Sophia is alive and well is shadowed a bit at that last part. The encounters with Randall's group are still too fresh. "What happened to them?"

"Let's just say the worms are well fed round here." There's a wicked grimness to Merle's expression, and it's when Daryl realizes his brother is stone cold sober for the first time in a long time.

There's a crackly response Daryl can't make out, but the unintroduced man hooks the mike back up. "Chonne says they're due back off the lines in ten minutes or so. Told her to expect three extra for supper."

"Please tell me you told her who, because I am throwing your ass under the bus if she's pissed."

The interplay has none of the tenseness he's used to Merle having around anyone of African ancestry. The man in the SUV seems amused.

"Not that stupid, Merle. Now let these folks load up so we can get the girl and her mama reunited." He leans across the console. "Since Merle's forgotten his manners, my name's Morgan, ma'am, and your little girl is doing just fine, but we're all staying a ways out of town, out on the river. Follow us and we'll lead you in."

Carol's hand grips Daryl's, and she tugs hard. He sees Merle's eyes cut to their joined hands, but he doesn't say anything, just gets back into the SUV.

"Getcher ass in gear, baby brother. It's getting dark."

Daryl lets Carol pull him to the truck, and they pull out behind Merle. She's nearly vibrating out of her skin as they head out of town.

"She's alive, Daryl. You were right. Sophia's alive."

He looks over at her and smiles. "Told you she was, darlin'. You're gonna have plenty of time to show her how much you've learned."

"It sounds like she's been learning too. Trotlines means fishing, right?"

"Yeah, catfish. Good way to bring in a catch, if you've got the time and a boat."

Carol makes a distressed sound, and Daryl takes her hand automatically. "Sophia can't swim."

"I imagine someone taught her, or they'll have her in a life jacket either way." There's more than Merle here. He mentioned kids plural, and the conversation about the unseen woman indicates at least one other adult.

He needs to shift gears, so he lets go of her hand, feeling her fingers grip his thigh instead. She falls quiet, fingers kneading his leg, as they turn from highway to country road to smaller road and even smaller road. The SUV has to slow, letting the passenger out to disable booby traps that make Paul shift uneasily.

"I sure wouldn't try this place without a guide," the Virginian mutters as they pull forward and Morgan reactivates something that involves barrels atop the gate. "I'm going to bet that's not water or anything friendly in those."

"No kidding. But considering some of the assholes out there, can't blame them."

The other man nods as they get back underway. There are no other blatant traps, but Daryl suspects they're there, unseen. At the end of the road, Merle turns into a driveway with a heavy duty security gate and punches in a code. The gate swings open, and Daryl follows, counting on it to sense there's something in the way.

He parks behind Merle in a row of vehicles that contains a bright pink Volkswagen Beetle. Morgan motions for them to follow him as he leaves the SUV, and Carol's grip on Daryl's hand almost hurts.

A strikingly beautiful woman with long dreads is coming down the exterior stairs of the stilt raised house, her smile warm and welcoming. "I'm Michonne, and there's going to be one happy girl when Sophia gets home."

Carol smiles, but her chin is wobbly. It seems to incite the woman to sweep her in for a hug, which surprises Carol in to letting go of Daryl. 

"Your girl is one of the smartest, bravest kids I've ever met." Michonne lets Carol go, leaving her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "First day I met her, she had a gun held on Merle when he was being a dumbass. Told him she was pretty sure getting shot in the ass wasn't a trip to Disneyland, but she was willing."

"Jesus Christ, Merle, what did you do to get her to pull a gun on you?" Daryl snaps, horrified at the idea.

Merle spreads his hands in a gesture of innocence. "She took offense at me posing a threat to her guardian angel. Threatened to introduce me to her taser, too, cool as a cucumber."

The other two adults seem amused as hell, so Daryl lets it slide since Carol's not fussing. He thinks she's still trying to grasp the concept of Sophia and gun together, despite months of working with Beth and Carl.

"Guardian? You weren't the one traveling with Sophia?" Carol asks as Michonne drops her hands away, turning to his brother.

"Nah, took me a while to heal up after Atlanta. Me and Chonne and her boy didn't make it here til middle of September, and they'd been settled in for about a month by then."

If not Merle, who the hell was looking after Sophia, Daryl wonders.

The sound of boat motors approaching draws attention to the dock down on the water. Two small jon boats are making their way in. With dusk falling, it's hard to make out features on anyone, but most of the passengers appear to be children or teens.

The adult male sets the smallest passenger on the dock and shucks him out of his life jacket. The toddler comes careening up the path, jabbering about mama and fish until he sees the three strangers. To Daryl's shock, the boy flees to hid shyly behind Merle.

Morgan moves toward the dock. "I'll go help with the catch and send Sophia and her guardian angel up."

He calls out the girl's name as he walks and one of the teens, the one running the second jon boat, pauses in tying off the boat to look up. Daryl can't hear what he says next, but everyone turns to look at the house. There's a moment of inaction before the teen shucks her life jacket and sets off up the path at a run.

Daryl wouldn't recognize the girl who skids to a halt just short of Carol if he didn't look closely. Her hair's brown now and cut into some half shaggy, half shaved hairstyle that looks more boyband than teen girl. She's dressed boyishly, too, with a flannel shirt over a band T-shirt of some type, with sturdy jeans and boots completing the outfit.

Most interestingly, she's got a small gun holstered on her belt next to a hunting knife, and Daryl spots the telltale signs of a boot knife in her left boot. Just as Carol isn't the same woman she was when Sophia was lost, Sophia is certainly not the mousy child he remembers.

None of that matters though, because Sophia's "Oh, God, Mama, it's really you!" is followed by the teenager flinging her arms around Carol. Carol returns the embrace, and both of them begin to sob in earnest.

The question of Sophia's unknown guardian angel is answered when the man from the boat reaches the group near the porch stairs.

For the first time since the August night where Daryl and Glenn rushed through the woods to try to alert Rick that he was up to no good, he's face to face with Shane Walsh.

Finding Sophia is a damned miracle. Finding Merle seemingly sober and behaving himself, is nearly unbelievable but something Daryl welcomes wholeheartedly.

But finding out Shane survived whatever Rick thought he did to kill him?

That is going to rock the foundations of a lot of people's worlds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be a back and forth between the two stories for about four chapters for the reunion and aftermath. So you'll get Shane's POV in Yourself next, with maybe a splash of Sophia. Then back to Daryl, still set the same night. Then there will be another Shane set the next morning.


	12. Reunion, Part 3 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle uses a tour of Sophia's greenhouse to tell Daryl and Carol about the Claimers - and the reality of the depth Sophia's attachment to Shane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order for readers to keep up with the flow of the Reunion arc, I'm going to label them in the correct order, despite being on alternating stories. I'll keep alternating chapters between Hell is Furnished and Hell is Yourself until the Reunion arc is concluded.

**October 15, 2010**

Daryl resists the urge to knock Walsh flat on his ass for what he said to Carol by a combination of having Carol crying against him and the forbidding expression on his brother’s face. He strongly suspects if he tried to follow the asshole ex-deputy down the hallway, he would have to go through Merle. When Merle’s strung out or drunk, Daryl can sometimes overpower him. 

He’s never won a fight with his brother when Merle was sober.

In the kitchen, one of the children is crying, the older of the two small boys, and being comforted by Morgan. When the older one, the only girl, catches Daryl looking at them while he avoids his brother’s grim gaze, her expression turns hateful.

Just like Sophia’s had been when she told him she wished he and Carol had stayed gone.

All this time of searching, he pictured Sophia being so grateful to be found and back with her mama that this isn’t a scenario he ever considered. For the girl to defiantly refuse to leave this place and wish for her mother to disappear? It’s like a damned puppy turned into a bear and ripped into them both with teeth and claws.

Down the hall, Walsh is talking at the door, but making no attempt to even try the knob. Daryl isn’t sure if Sophia’s locked it, or if Walsh just isn’t pushing the issue. He hopes the girl locked him out, because that asshole deserves to be shut out after what he said to Carol.

Michonne pushes her chair back from the table, going into the kitchen. He can’t hear what she says, but the two older kids leave the card table and head down the hall. The girl keeps a wary eye on him and Carol the whole way, positioning her thin frame between them and the boy. 

Both children approach Walsh, who stops whatever conversation he’s been attempting with the closed door and brings them close for a hug. He turns and puts his back to Sophia’s door, sliding to sit against it. Both kids join him, each cuddled against him like he’s some sort of teddy bear instead of the killer Daryl knows him to be. Michonne heads down the hall too, with the smallest boy on her hip, but she detours into a different room and doesn’t come back out.

Merle turns and follows Daryl’s line of sight. “Still running on fucking assumptions, Darlina? I taught you better than that shit.”

“Guess you’re still the same asshole, calling me a girl’s name like it’s something significant.” He’s about half surprised at that objection being the one that comes out, of all the ones clamoring for space in his brain right now. He’s always hated that particular nickname, but even more because of who started it. He was never masculine enough to suit Will Dixon.

The shock comes when his brother blinks and nods. “Point taken.” Merle takes a bite of steak and asparagus, navigating his fork with his left hand as if it’s been his dominant hand all his life.

The two things combined makes Daryl really study his brother. He’s lost weight, but what’s there is still heavy muscle, with no sign of the beer gut he had started putting on the last few years before the outbreak. Where his hair used to be close shaven, in keeping with the damned skinheads he often affiliated with, he’s grown it back out long enough for it to curl, and there’s more gray than brown, reminding him that Merle crossed the line for fifty already.

Where his right hand once was, the wrist ends in a heavily scarred stump unlike any amputation Daryl’s ever seen pictures of, probably because Merle cauterized the stump with heated metal instead of it being sewn up by a surgeon. He watches Daryl studying it and smiles, putting his fork down to reach into the pocket on the pale blue button up shirt he’s wearing over a navy tank top and pulling out a rainbow striped sock looking thing that he rolls over the scarred stump with a slow smile.

“Spitfire made me a bunch of these. Gave up her own winter tights for the project, because my prosthetic was rubbing blisters on it.”

Merle’s words draw Carol’s attention, who lets go of Daryl to reach for a napkin on the table to scrub at her face. She blinks a few times, staring at the girlishly colored stump cover. “She made that for you?”

“Yep. Same night I arrived here. Heard the problem and thought the solution up right on the spot.” He turns that penetrating gaze on Carol instead of Daryl. “You two have been looking for a scared little rabbit in the woods all this time. First thing you gotta accept is that little bunny hasn’t existed for months. If you’re looking for the child who went into the woods, you’re looking for a ghost.”

Carol makes a distressed sound, but she squares her shoulders and nods. “You aren’t just talking about her being dressed like a boy or the gun, are you?”

“You were paying attention then. I wondered, when you just ignored everything she told you about her plans for the garden and her _home_ and decided she was leaving when you did.” There’s a cruel bite to the words, an undertone Daryl recognizes from the few times Merle ever deigns to speak about their unlamented old man and his inability to ever listen to his sons’ plans.

He stiffens, but Carol’s fingers dig into his forearm, and he forces him to relax.

Carol stops and starts a couple of times, but Merle surprises him by not mocking her. Instead he steadily makes inroads into the food on his plate. Neither of them have ever been much on wasting good food, and Daryl recalls what he ate as being on Carol’s level of tasty cooking, although a little fancier than anything she’s ever served. There was some sort of white sauce spread over the steak and asparagus, like an expensive restaurant, with creamy smooth mashed sweet potatoes served alongside.

“Tell me what I’ve missed.” Daryl looks at Carol, not expecting her to say that, but her gaze is steady on his brother. Whatever tailspin she did back toward the Carol of the quarry, she’s put that old self away again.

Merle smiles slowly, laying his fork down at last. He chews the bite of steak in his mouth slowly, thinking something over. “How about I give you some of that tour Spitfire offered you?”

When he pushes his chair back, they follow. Daryl glances to Paul, but the man shrugs and indicates he’s staying put at the bar where he’s been forgotten by virtually everyone but Morgan. Morgan’s putting away the forgotten food, a dozen or so containers scattered on the counter that he’s emptying individual plates into. It’s a good idea, because Daryl imagines the children will especially miss the interrupted meal later.

Outside, the two older boys are done with their food, but they’re watching the door with wary looks. The older boy meets Merle’s eyes, before glancing at Daryl and Carol with more than a little suspicion showing behind his black plastic framed glasses. “Fee okay?”

“She will be, Patch. Just gotta let the storm blow over again.”

“Alright. Maybe Duane and I will go see if Eastman and Andrea need help.”

“Good idea. Take your rifle, and tell Friar Tuck’s daddy you’re going. Might lay in wait for those damned raccoons if they come back for another snack, because the doc ain’t gonna want to take ‘em down.”

The boys stand, and Daryl’s struck by the contrast between them. Duane looks as solidly healthy as any pre-apocalypse kid might look. The one Merle called Patch shows every sign of recovering from a prolonged period of malnutrition. It’s a look Daryl recalls well from his own youth, especially before he was old enough to hunt for himself. The most terrifying part is that the teenager’s throat is heavily scarred in a pattern that makes Daryl ache to hurt whoever is responsible. From Carol’s tight grip on his fingers, he knows she sees it, too.

The boys head into the house, and Merle clears his throat. “Patch and the two little ones? They’re another reason you won’t be able to get Spitfire to leave. They’re hers, and separating her from the little ones especially, is going to be like trying to pry a mama bear off two cubs.”

Daryl remembers the grip Walsh had on Sophia’s elbow, where her instinct to go for a weapon at her belt is more finely honed than anything he’s instilled in Carol or the kids he’s responsible for so far. He’s not sure he wants to know why the girl has that warrior’s edge already.

Warning spoken, Merle points toward the side of the house behind the kitchen. The raised deck of the porch ends on the backside of the house in a set of French-style glass doors. Painted in careful lettering on the glass is ‘Sophia’s Conservatory’. Merle opens one of the doors, letting them precede him inside. He flicks a switch somewhere, and fairy lights spring to life, shedding white light from strings woven among hanging plants like scattered stars.

“It’s so beautiful,” Carol says, looking around in wonder. “This is Sophia’s?”

Where Daryl expected a cobbled together garden like many he’s seen stuffed onto apartment balconies, this looks more like something out of some designer magazine. Instead of walls, the entire outside edge of the former porch is row upon row of glass panels that look like they open outward on clever little latches. When he looks up, what doubles as a roof is more glass. Wherever the building materials came from, it wasn’t intended for something as mundane as a greenhouse, but probably a sunroom for some half a million dollar home, Daryl thinks.

Potted plants hang from every center beam. Some are things Daryl can identify, like what looks like some sort of tomato plant growing in a hanging basket, long stems draping naturally as an ivy would. Others look tropical and almost out of place for somewhere intended for food, because he knows damn well that Devil’s Ivy is poisonous. Long cedarwood raised beds stretch along either side of the room, with the vegetable plants Sophia and Walsh described growing in their well-tended soil. 

Nearest him, Daryl can see a hand labeled sign that says ‘Crowders’ with ‘Shane’s favorite’ underneath in the same handwriting he’s been seeing on notes all day.

“Yeah, this is all hers. The conservatory name is a bit of a joke from a board game she really likes. Friar Tuck helps her more than the other kids with it, but he’s been here the longest. Spitfire saved him from being eaten by his walker mama, so he sees her a bit like Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel rolled into one.”

Carol lets go of Daryl’s hand, venturing past Merle to brush her fingers along the colorful marigolds that edge all the vegetable beds. “Flowers and houseplants, not just food.”

“Back when we were still clearing individual houses, the last thing she did in every single place was to find any plants and see if they might survive. Some of the things she brought home looked deader than dead to me, but the girl’s got a magic touch. If there’s a scrap of life in them, your daughter can coax it back to this.” Merle reaches up to brush his fingers along the fuzzy red tendrils of a plant with big green leaves.

“The plants in the house are hers, too, aren’t they?” Carol asks. She’s moved on from the marigolds, stopping to read the little handwritten labels set everywhere the plants in the beds change.

Merle chuckles. “I promise you that Shane sure as hell didn’t collect houseplants before the world went to hell and didn’t take up the habit afterward either.”

“This is Walsh’s place?” Daryl asks, feeling uneasy at the thought. 

“The one and only, baby brother. Only reason I even found them was the skinny broad’s Christmas card list in town had it listed. Thought a man like Officer Friendly might circle back to home like his type usually does, but apparently I read the two deputies backward on that. It was a good place for Chonne and the little man to stay while I kept trying to find your sorry ass.”

Before Daryl can react to that, Carol makes an almost inaudible sound of distress. She’s facing a pair of windows into the house itself, and a quick mental tally tells Daryl it’s the same room Sophia went into. He makes his way to where Carol is standing with a hand pressed tightly against her mouth, staring into the room.

There are curtains, but they’re open, probably to allow a view of the plants outside. It gives them both a clear line of sight to Sophia, who is sitting with her back against the closed door in an imitation of Walsh’s position on the hallway side. Where Walsh has two small children cuddled close, Sophia has a massive black bobtail cat curled to her chest. She’s rocking side to side in time to the music, he thinks, based on what little of the beat trickles out of the house. The music comes from a portable player of some sort that sits next to Sophia’s feet.

“She has a cat?” Daryl can’t blame Carol for focusing on that. A pet is definitely another thing they didn’t expect to find along with the missing girl.

“Damn little pet demon, if you ask every other person in the house. Guess he tolerates the little man, because he’s a baby, but anyone else other than Spitfire? That little bastard likes to hide and take a chunk out of your ankle. Swear to God he fucking laughs about it. She calls him Lucius, but everyone else swears by Lucifer instead.”

“And he’s allowed to be a housecat?” Daryl is pretty astonished that an antagonistic cat like that is allowed indoors.

“He loves her, and she dotes on him. That’s his passport.”

Mystery of the cat solved, Daryl looks at what else they can see of the room, feeling a little like a peeping tom. But Merle isn’t stopping them from looking, so he thinks this might be one of the reasons the man led them out here.

It looks like a typical kids room, although the set of double bunk beds makes him wonder just how many of the kids share it. On the right, the bottom bed is covered with a comforter featuring a Disney princess Daryl doesn’t remember, a dark skinned girl with a green and yellow ball gown. A collection of dolls rests against the pillow. The top bunk is covered in a white comforter covered in neon colored owls, and the walls around it are plastered with posters, with cats being the dominant theme. A single rainbow colored Beanie Baby bear sits on the pillow.

On the other side of the room, the bottom bunk sports the monsters from that weird Disney movie about scaring kids, and the top bunk has a blue and green plaid covering. There are fewer personalizations on this side of the room, aside from a couple of stuffed animals on the bottom bunk and a toy lightsaber on the floor beside the bed. Overflowing bookshelves cover most of the rest of the room, although there seems to be an equally overflowing toy chest below the window.

“Who are the other kids, Merle?” he asks. “Why do they look like they escaped the pages of a history book about World War Two concentration camps?”

Merle points at a little rattan loveseat at the far end of the greenhouse. “Take a seat. Not a tale I’m relating outside the girl’s window.”

Daryl follows Carol, who looks torn between wanting to know and not wanting to know. They both take a seat, with Daryl realizing belatedly that it’s a glider of some sort when the damn thing moves backward under his weight. Merle leans against the spot on the house where the original siding changes to glass leading to another set of double doors. He rubs at the stocking on his stump and takes a deep breath.

“We got sloppy. Hadn’t seen anyone with ill intent around town. Morgan and me, we were out on the road, looking for any sign of y’all. Chonne stayed at the house that day, because Andre was feeling poorly. We’d all gone into town with just one adult along with Sophia and Duane. It was a habit, and they’re both capable kids.”

Unease curls through Daryl’s gut as he begins to understand why Merle’s tone is almost apologetic. He’s even dropped the cutesy nicknames for the kids. Carol must feel the same, because she laces her fingers into Daryl’s.

“Shane went in to clear the house. Kids stayed out back, running one of those little gadgets in the backyard that rolls up loose pecans. Sophia spotted the strangers, but they already had a bead on her. She made Duane hide, so she was the only one they snatched.”

“Oh God,” Carol gasps. “They took her?”

Merle clears his throat and laughs, the sound holding more humor than Daryl expects, considering what he’s telling them. “Yeah, they did, and it was the worst fucking mistake they could ever make for two reasons. She put a bullet in one of them before they knocked her out, and the bastard left a blood trail like a neon sign.”

“Jesus Christ.” Daryl can’t imagine the terror Sophia must have experienced, but she stood her ground long enough to shoot a grown man anyway.

“He was certainly watching over her that day. Bastards didn’t catch on that she was a girl. Left her tied up and went back out to hunt for gasoline. They had word of some weirdo down south who was willing to buy kids for some reason or another, or so the kids already captive there told her. She got out of the ropes and freed the kids and sent them running to a storm shelter before Shane made it to the camp.”

“Why did it take him long enough she was freeing up kids herself?” Daryl wonders, feeling pissed off on Sophia’s behalf.

Merle’s smile is the grim, deadly one he used at the sheriff’s department. “Because he had to put Duane somewhere safe, and then he went through those monsters like something out of a Bronson movie, little brother. Killed four men before he got to her and another after. Morgan and me, we came home after they were all back home, but we went out to survey the camp. It was a bloodbath.”

Daryl knew Walsh was capable of killing, because he proved it with Otis and Randall, as well as his attempt on Rick. But he finds he can’t find any room for blame in this situation. He would do the same damn thing. From Carol’s muttered, “Good for him,” she agrees.

“They kept the two smaller kids in a fucking dog crate, and Patrick chained up like he was a mangy mutt they couldn’t be bothered to get rid of. They had dog collars on all three kids. They all died too easy for their crimes.” Merle’s pensive, clear blue eyes shifting between Carol and Daryl. 

“Whatever you see in Shane because of what happened before, you need to let it go, or you’re going to lose Sophia. Girl’s hardwired to her damned _soul_ that that man will not just die to protect her, but he’ll kill to keep her safe, too. In this godforsaken world? Nothing tops that. Carol, you know what Molly said Sophia told her when she woke up in that camp?”

“What?” Distress strains Carol’s voice.

“My dad will come for me.” The inflection Merle gives it sounds like he’s pronouncing an indisputable fact, and Daryl finally understands the truth his brother is trying to convey with his tour and his story.

Carol wilts against him, body going almost limp. Daryl wraps his arm around her, pressing a kiss against her slowly lengthening hair. The embrace is a comfort to him as much as it is for her. Finding that note seemed like a straightforward mission. Find Sophia and bring her back with them. His burgeoning hope that Merle was with her proved both true and false.

But those six words combined with Sophia’s outrage at the idea someone would take her away from here, from her home? 

It changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merle hijacked this chapter. He's probably not done, because there's a dynamic between Sophia and Merle as fellow survivors of abusive home environments that means he's attuned to and aware of more of Sophia's issues than even Shane or Michonne are. It's a background friendship I've had running in the back of my mind for introduction during the reunion period. And if it seems he glossed over Sophia's full role in the Claimers debacle, you're right. He isn't going to drop that particular bomb.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure if the next chapter POV for _Yourself_ will be Shane or Sophia - or both. There's a few things percolating.
> 
> Merle has nicknames for all the kids that he will almost always use for them except when he's being deadly serious about something. While Molly and Luke's aren't used in this chapter, they'll surface.
> 
> Random Recipe Tidbit: For what Michonne cooked, google Asparagus Steak Oscar. She just eliminated the crab meat. ;)


	13. Reunion, Part 5 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia apologizes to Carol and Daryl and invites them to move to her home instead of leaving.

**October 15, 2010**

Daryl hears the music cut off. While the sound wasn't loud, it's absence is noticeable. The gigantic black cat leaps into one of the windows, glaring balefully at them with eerie green eyes. 

Nothing else changes right away, so he assumes the girl is finally talking to Walsh.

"Does this happen often?" Carol asks, moving away from him enough that she can look at Merle. "Her running off to her room. The little girl said she was playing her angry music."

Merle shifts his weight and shrugs. "Not like people normally imply teenagers do, but from time to time. She feels safe to let it boil over when she needs it to. Most of the time, she's just a good kid that's probably smarter than all of us here and encouraged to use it."

"It's hard to picture Walsh looking after her like this," Daryl says. Honestly, picturing his brother looking after Sophia was hard. Picturing Walsh is damn near impossible.

"I can picture it." It startles him when Carol says that. She gives him a tired smile when he shoots her a questioning look. "You weren't in camp much, Daryl, to see him with Carl. He's good with kids, especially for a man without kids. Sophia liked him. Thought Carl was really lucky to have him."

That might explain Sophia being easy to accept Walsh as a guardian. "I guess I can stretch my mind to understanding her attachment, especially after he beat the shit out of Ed. But why is she so terrified of Rick?" Daryl can’t quite figure that out. Rick’s mental breakdown was never something that they saw potential for back when Sophia was still with them.

“I’m sure a shrink would come up with a complex answer, but the short one I venture is he’s a symbol of something terrifying happening to her, little brother. And it’s a phobia reinforced by the fact that he’s got a habit of leaving folks for dead.” 

Merle digs in his pocket, coming up with a piece of spearmint gum he unwraps and pops in his mouth, fiddling with the wrapper. “Me and Shane? We contributed to our issues. But Sophia and Andrea didn’t. Lotta shit stacked against the man in the girl’s mind. She’s a kid still. Brains work differently.”

A door opens somewhere behind Merle, and Daryl catches a glimpse of Sophia walking toward the greenhouse. When she opens the door, she looks at where he and her mother are on the glider, but it’s Merle she turns to first. 

The body language of both during the hug she delivers to his brother adds another layer to Merle’s defense of Sophia. His brother loves this kid, and it makes Daryl both sad and hopeful at the same time, because Merle never allows himself to get attached to people. He watches as Merle says something too low for even his ears to overhear, which makes Sophia flinch but nod.

When Sophia turns him loose finally, Merle clears his throat. “Gonna step out to the deck and give you a few minutes.”

She nods, giving an exaggerated grimace when Merle ruffles her hair to make it stand up like it’s never been combed. Once Merle’s shut the door behind himself, Sophia leads against that same spot, hands clasped together in front of her with a tension Daryl knows they all share. He’s not sure he should be part of the conversation, all things considered, but he’s torn between figuring it all out and giving them privacy. Neither of them asks him to leave, so he stays put.

“I’m sorry for what I said about you staying gone,” Sophia says. Her voice shows the strain of crying, just as her face is still blotchy from tears and emotion. “I got angry that you didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

Carol manages a wavering smile. “And I’m sorry for that. Merle was filling us in a bit about what happened while you were gone.”

“Like the Claimers.” It’s stated baldly, without embellishment. Daryl thinks that might have been what Merle was telling her before he slipped away.

“Yes. I’m so sorry that happened to you, sweetheart.” Carol clasps her hands together in her lap, fidgeting in an effort to stay put with Sophia keeping the width of the room between them deliberately. “It must have been terrifying.”

“Weird part was it wasn’t that scary when it was happening. Shane says that was the shock talking, but I just kept remembering everything he and everyone else taught me. Like Merle teaching me how to dislocate my thumb to get out of bindings.” Sophia wiggles the indicated digit. “He was right that it hurts like hell, but it worked.”

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl mutters. Merle taught him the same trick, and it really is something that hurts like a bitch. 

She pushes back the fringe of hair that falls across one side of her head to show a scar in the close shaved part of her hair. “That was the worst of it for me. Had to get some stitches. The other kids, they were with those bastards for weeks. They deserved to die, just like the pedophile Shane killed on the farm did.”

Daryl wonders how much Sophia knows of Shane’s past at the farm. She obviously knows about Randall, using the term no one else wanted to actually speak back then. He glances at Carol, not sure where the boundary is for him in this conversation. Overstepping and making her angry at her mother by association is not how he wants it to go.

“He tell you all about the farm?” he asks at last, since Carol just gives a little nod.

Sophia nods. “Most of it, although he never mentioned the baby, and I filled in some of the blanks on what he did tell me with what he said when he was out of his head with the fever. He killed a man named Otis. Said he didn’t deserve to die. And he was planning on killing Rick and tried more than once. Didn’t manage it.

“He told me the first day I was with him, so I could decide if I wanted to rely on him or not. He promised he would never leave me behind. That’s why I wasn’t scared when the Claimers got me. I knew he would come. Knew it here.” She taps her chest over her heart with a closed fist.

Neither adult has the words to reply to that.

“Shane says he thinks you’ve changed a lot,” Sophia says, looking at her mother. “And not just because Daryl’s your boyfriend.”

Daryl jerks just a little at the statement of the relationship, but then again, neither of them have really hidden it here from someone with the observation skills the girl seems to have. He wonders how many of them are from a childhood with Ed Peletier and how many are honed from training with Walsh, Merle, and the others.

“Daryl’s been teaching several of us,” Carol tells her. “Me, Beth, and Carl, mostly. So that we can all survive out there without someone looking after us.”

It throws an elephant in the room: the reminder that Sophia was alone for weeks, but the girl doesn’t seem upset at the reminder.

“Good.” She actually smiles, directing it more at Daryl than her mother. “Shane says you were the only one who didn’t give up looking for me at the farm. You even got shot because of me. Not sure why you did, when you didn’t know me, but thank you.”

Daryl barely remembers being shot, since the pain in his side was so much greater than the one in his head. He wonders if God’s being damned ironic that the scar he bears is in almost exactly the same place as Sophia’s from the Claimers’ kidnapping. The girl’s gratitude makes him uncomfortable. He just did the right thing.

Instead of shrugging it off, he offers her the explanation he’s only given Carol in passing. “I was lost nine days in the woods once when I was a kid, and no one looked for me at all. I couldn’t be the guy that didn’t look.”

Sophia’s expression shifts, becoming softer and less emotionless. “How old were you?”

“Ten. Merle would have noticed me gone, if he were home, but he was off in juvie at the time.”

“I’m sorry no one looked for you.” The words are sweetly spoken, compassion for a child long since lost under the mantle of adulthood. 

Sophia moves finally, coming to her mother. She eyes the hand Carol curled around his when he told Sophia his age when he was lost, but doesn’t comment on it directly. Instead, she kneels, leaning in to hug her mother around the middle. Before Carol can respond and hug her with both arms, the girl drops her hand across their joined ones and squeezes lightly.

Daryl meets Carol’s tearful gaze above Sophia’s head. They’re caught up in a tangled mess right now, but at least their relationship doesn’t seem to be part of the problems they have to iron out.

“I missed you, Mama. I’m sorry I didn’t think you would be alive. Shane promised me that Daryl was with you, and you would be okay, but I didn’t really believe him. If Merle wasn’t going to look for you and Daryl, no one would have. I would have asked Shane not to, so he would be safer.”

The fact that Sophia believed Carol dead might explain her attachment level to Walsh. An orphan wouldn’t hold out hope of a miracle in this world,especially not one from the background Sophia’s from. Daryl figures if it had been him and his parents and he was her age in the apocalypse, he would have thought similarly. The Carol of the quarry reminded him of his mother in many painful ways. The relationship they developed now would have been impossible if she never tried to become more than what she was under Ed’s domination.

“That’s alright, baby girl. I wouldn’t have believed I could survive back then either. I was too scared and inexperienced to even help look for you.” Carol finger combs the girl’s tousled hair and smiles. “Who changed your hair?”

Sophia raises her head to look at Carol, searching her expression at the abrupt change in subject. But she accepts that Carol’s letting her daughter’s disbelief in her survival chances slip away and be forgiven, because she smiles. “Shane did. He thought it was safer for me to look like a boy, back when we were still on the road.”

“And you kept it even here?” 

The haircut - and color - is too neat to be something done months ago.

“Yeah. I like it short. Doesn’t get in my way on the water or hunting or working. Michonne’s been helping me keep the brown on, because it looks really weird if it’s blonde at the bottom.. Merle says I should dye it a bright color. Maybe pink like my car.”

Daryl can’t help laughing, remembering the Pepto-pink Volkswagen. “The Bug is your car?”

“We found it on that peanut farm. After Shane got better, he worried that something might happen to him, and he wanted me to know how to drive if it did. I like the Bug, even if it’s pink.”

The fact that she’s been taught to drive isn’t something Daryl can argue with, especially since she’s even been taught on a manual transmission. He makes a mental note that he should teach Carl, and Karen’s boy, too. Fuel won’t last forever, but while it does, they should learn.

“I suppose you’ll have to show me,” Carol says, smiling. “Did he also teach you to drive the boat?”

“He did. We used it to go back and forth to the house with the big gardens back before we had help to fence things in better. Safer on the water from everything.” Sophia grins at her mother, a hint of the spirit she showed during her pre-meal chatter returning. “And I know how to swim now, too. Me and Luke and Andre couldn’t swim, so Shane taught all of us.”

Every new fact adds another layer onto the inevitable conclusion that Sophia is not going to leave this place without a fight neither of them want to spark. Carol glances at him, and he sees the realization in her eyes, too.

“I’m glad he took the time to teach you.” Carol does sound pleased, reminding him of that approving tone she always gets whenever Daryl does something with any of the younger members of their group, all the way up to Glenn and Maggie.

Sophia worries at her bottom lip after that comment. “You said you don’t have a doctor, right? Where you’re staying? And that’s why you need to go back?”

“Hershel’s a veterinarian. Beth and I have been studying the books Daryl and I took from a community college. Maggie used to help with the vet practice. But no, we don’t have a doctor.”

“Well, we have one here.” Sophia all but smirks at them, and Daryl feels that final piece slot into place toward the inevitable. “Mister Eastman worked as a psychiatrist, but they have to learn the rest of the body, too. He’s gonna be teaching me. I don’t know if he’s ever delivered a baby, but we can ask when he gets back.”

“Where are he and Andrea?” Carol asks. Daryl’s wondering that himself, as neither appeared so far. 

“Next door. Once we started finding more animals, none of us wanted to dodge the poop, so they’re all next door now except for Lucius. We’ve got goats, sheep, chickens, ducks, geese, and turkeys so far. Something tore into a pen and killed a rooster last night that Merle thinks was a raccoon.”

“I did notice a lot of places fenced in,” Daryl notes. There’s no way he would risk Rick in his current state anywhere close to this many people the man doesn’t know. He’s still not sure how to broach the subject of the man’s current incarceration with these folks, but at least they do have a shrink in residence. “How many?”

“Eight. Everything that was already on this road. Some already had fences, but we put in the others on days that Morgan and Merle took off from searching. Then Morgan started rigging things up after the Claimers to make it harder for someone to get in unnoticed.” Sophia sighs. “There’s a good house, down by the gate. Big brick one that doesn’t get really hot and has propane for heat. It’s got four bedrooms and a den, and there’s another house across the road that has a wood stove for heat. Merle and Morgan know how to put in generators.”

“This plan good with Walsh?” Daryl asks, because he doesn’t want to start any planning with just the kid’s input. He has no idea how in the hell to have the Grimes family and Walsh within range of each other safely, especially with Rick still fragile. But he wonders if the man’s miraculous survival might be what finally fixes the fractured little family, the same way his seeming death shattered it beyond recovery.

“He suggested it, but only if it was okay with me.” Her intent blue eyes that are darker than Carol’s are focused on him. “I don’t know where y’all have been staying, if anywhere at all, but here? We’ve got more than we’ll use in a couple of years put up safe already.”

Daryl sighs, rubbing at his chin. “We’re doing okay there, but it’s a small place.” If Paul’s group stays, they’re outgrowing the compound, but before, the idea of moving Lori and securing a new place just wasn’t in the plans, not with winter hovering. “Morgan is the man Rick met when he got out of the hospital, right?”

Sophia nods. “Yeah. That’s why we were looking around town for him, because Shane remembered he had a kid with him. He thought it would be safer if they teamed up in case something happened to one or the other adult.”

It’s more thoughtful that Daryl would have given Walsh credit for, but he doesn’t have the knowledge even Carol has of the man. Once Merle pissed the ex-deputy off at the quarry, Daryl did his best to stay scarce and away from the man’s watchful eyes. Being tarred with the same brush as his addict brother was nothing new, but it chafed even more when he was feeding the camp.

“Do you think he would be willing to go back to our camp with me?” he asks. Convincing the others is going to take more knowledge of the place than he can really gain in the time he has before people start to panic because he and Carol haven’t returned. He’s pretty sure Paul won’t stay away from his people long either, and he’s grateful for the man’s support once Carol got overwhelmed on the way here.

“Probably. He’s gone out with Merle looking for y’all ever since Merle got here.”

“I’ll have a talk with him and see what he thinks about going with me tomorrow. Let you stay here, Carol, if that’s okay?” Daryl cannot imagine a scenario where Carol gets into that truck without her daughter, and he isn’t going to even suggest it.

The grateful smile he gets from both mother and daughter makes his anxiety settle. There’s no good solution, he thinks, because the Grimes aren’t the only problem with reconciling the groups. He has no doubt that all three Greenes will raise objections to living near the man who killed Otis. But It’s not like they’ve got to share a house with Walsh. Putting them at the opposite end of the secure area is definitely a deliberate decision.

“I would be okay with that. Sophia’s got a lot to show me here, I think.”

Sophia nods enthusiastically. “There’s a lot already done, and we’ve got even more projects planned. It’ll go faster now that Morgan and Merle aren’t having to take off, and with more people, too.”

With the girl’s happiness on full display, Daryl knows it’s the right thing to do. All the rest is just logistics to sort out, and honestly, if he has to, he’ll just plunk Lori and Carl into a vehicle and the rest will inevitably follow. He didn’t intend to become their leader, but it happened.

Daryl suspects he’s about to face an even harder part of that leadership than even coping with Rick’s meltdown, but the idea of not being solely responsible for everyone?

That’s actually a relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's next chapter will be back at the other compound, so this is the final "Reunion" titled chapter. 
> 
> He's got one hell of a shock to deliver to his people. He may spend a day or three away, trying to convince everyone it's the best idea, but he'll be back (although I can actually picture him just snagging Carl up so the rest really do follow him anyway, and you know the kid would cooperate).
> 
>  _Hell is Yourself's_ next chapter will cover Shane and Carol starting to take each other's measure a little better over their shared devotion to Sophia.


	14. People Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl worries that consolidating the two groups is going to fracture more than one family.

**October 16, 2010**

Daryl fills Morgan in on the details of Rick's descent into mental illness as they make the drive toward the small compound that's sheltered his people for weeks. It's new information for Paul, too, who miraculously didn't demand details before on why they had a man locked in a kennel. The possibility of finding Sophia seemed to ignite a sense of urgency in the other man despite not knowing the girl at all. Daryl suspects Enid has something to do with that.

It takes about five miles for Morgan to formulate a reply. "It's hard to imagine waking up with the world already gone instead of watching it happen. I think it's like that old story about boiling the frog. He doesn't notice the gradual heating of the water the way he would if you dropped him in boiling water."

That makes Daryl snort with laughter. "Guess it really was about like being thrown into the boiling pot for the man."

"Do you think he can be trusted to stay put on his end of things for Sophia's sake? Only knew the man a short time."

"Walsh didn't seem too concerned about him coming when I told him there were mental health issues. Think he might struggle if it were an adult he needed to settle up with, but not a kid."

Despite his meltdown including poor teenage Noah as a target, Daryl genuinely thinks Rick is settled enough and has enough guilt where Sophia is concerned to allow the girl her safe space.

"If he can't cope, we can rig up something better than a kennel, I think. World's tiniest jailhouse."

Daryl considers the fact that Rick at least seems beyond the early worries that he might harm himself and nods. "At least the doctor you have won't be guessing on meds."

In the passenger seat, Paul shifts and turns so he can see both Daryl driving and Morgan in the crew cab seat behind Daryl. "I mentioned it yesterday, but we also have a doctor. Denise was a psychiatrist, as well."

The irony of finding two psychiatrists in the damned apocalypse isn't lost on Daryl. "Guess that's about the most valuable skill possible these days for a doctor."

Paul certainly seems to be amused by the idea. "She did part of her residency as a surgeon, before deciding on something less high stress. I don't know if she's ever delivered a baby, but she's at least operated on people more than the vet would have. More recently than we like to think about."

Remembering that Paul's group fled a warmonger that took out at least two separate survivor communities, Daryl imagines she did get some recent hands-on experience. "You folks willing to stick around, then?"

"As long as Morgan's people don't mind." Paul smiles at the older man in the backseat. "We just met up with Daryl's people not long ago, but we'll pull our own weight."

Morgan just smiles where Daryl can see him in the rearview mirror. "The more capable hands we have, the better."

They fill the remaining time with conversing about the improvements the riverside community has planned, both for defense and for sustainability. The adults there have had to prioritize due to losing two members from the work force regularly for the search for Daryl and Carol. He doesn't voice it, but there's a part of Daryl that is thrilled with the idea of how hard Merle looked for him.

Pulling through the gate that Glenn closes behind them means he's got to face a lot of explanations he isn't sure he has the right words for, especially the most immediate issue that Carol didn't return with him. Morgan seems to understand, because he leans forward as Daryl parks the truck.

"Any objections to me going down to see Rick right away?"

"No. Saves me telling everyone twice, I guess." Or dragging everyone down to the kennel to drop all his bombshells.

Paul just smiles and disappears, headed back to his own people clustered in front of their RV. Daryl sets boots to the ground and takes a deep breath, going toward the group gathering outside the house anxiously. He points Morgan toward Rick, but doesn't watch the man walk down there.

"Daryl?" Maggie sounds alarmed. "Where's Carol? Did you find Sophia?"

"We found Sophia, and she's doing good, but she didn't want to leave her place. Carol stayed behind to help get a house ready for the rest of y'all, if you agree to come."

"Who's the man talking to Dad?" Carl asks, peering to where Morgan is being greeted by a joyful Rick.

"That's Morgan Jones."

"The man who helped Rick after the hospital?" Lori looks like she's having a good day, with her skin almost taking on that glow pregnant women are supposed to have.

"The one and only. Man was still in King County."

"That's where you found Sophia?" Glenn laughs. "KC, of course."

"Guys? Why is Rick crying like that?" T-Dog sounds alarmed, and Daryl can't blame him. Seems like Morgan's spilling all the beans faster than he is.

Glancing between Lori and Carl, he isn't sure who to focus in, but in the end, opts for the kid. Glenn and Maggie are close enough to the pregnant woman. Daryl laya his hands gently on Carl's shoulders.

"Remember how we thought Sophia might be with my brother, because someone was wounded?" Carl nods. "Well, who was wounded at the farm that last night?"

Lori makes the connection before Carl does, because he hears the distressed noise and sees Maggie move out of the corner of his eye.

"Shane's dead, Daryl. I saw him go down with a walker on top of him." Carl starts crying. "This ain't funny."

"Buddy, I've seen him with my own two eyes in that house of his on the oxbow lake. Big thing on stilts to stay out of the water. Even saw your room there with that Iron Man poster and those Star Wars legos." No one seemed to mind him looking around, and Merle wasn't lying that they've been busy converting the neighborhood.

"You're serious? He's really alive?" Carl flings his arms around Daryl and sobs. It's unexpected, but he hugs the boy, looking up to where Lori is also crying, held by Maggie.

"Not just him. Andrea and Merle are there, too. Alive and well."

"Holy shit. It's like the damned lost and found," T-Dog mutters, voicing Daryl's own sentiment. "They've been in King County all along?"

"I don't have all the details on how everyone got there, but Shane and Sophia have been there since a couple days after the farm fell. Guessing he thought we might circle back that way once we found out Columbus and Benning are gone."

"They're gone?" Hershel asks. He's at Lori's side, taking her pulse as he studies Daryl.

"Bombed practically into non-existence. Looks like something out of an old war film." Daryl smooths Carl's hair, glad the boy seems to be stopping crying.

"We're going to go, right, Daryl? To see Sophia and Shane?" Carl's eyes are bloodshot, but he's grinning so hard his face ought to hurt.

"That's up to your mama, Carl."

Lori dries her face on her shirttail. "Of course he can go."

Daryl stills at the singular permission, and so does Carl. 

"Mom, he said Carol was getting a house ready for us."

Lori straightens and wobbles forward to hug her son to her. "Sweetheart, I'm not sure how good an idea that is. What happened between your father and Shane? That's not easy to set aside. But I won't say you can't see him."

"This ain't like before, Lori. Can't road trip with the kid like a year ago. Those bastards that went after Karen and Noah ain't the only nasties out there."

Daryl hates to detail it in front of Carl, but he's bound to hear eventually. "Sophia got snatched by a group that was keeping kids in collars and dog crates."

"She's safe, you said." Lori looks genuinely distraught.

"Safe because she was taught how to fight back, and she got lucky."

"And because Shane went after her, didn't he?"

Everyone turns to look at Beth, who shrugs. "No one ever wants to talk about it, especially when we thought he was dead, but he killed Otis to bring back those supplies to save Carl. Why wouldn't he do the same to save Sophia?"

"How do you know that, Bethie? About Otis?" Hershel inquires.

"Rick talked to himself sometimes, before he really lost it. The subject of Otis came up a time or two. When I thought about it, it made sense." She narrows her eyes at the others. "I'm not a kid who needs protecting anymore. None of us can be that, can we, Carl?"

The boy, barely a teenager himself now, shakes his head. "Me and Beth figured it out, about Otis, and the baby, and probably most of the rest." He turns to his mother. "Why would we stay here, instead of going home? Obviously, Daryl's leaving."

Daryl sees the dismay in several pairs of eyes. "Carol's not leaving Sophia, and Sophia ain't coming here. Merle's set on staying there, too. That's my family."

"Daryl, you know I respect what you've done for all of us, but you cannot ask us to live with a man who killed one of our friends and tried to kill his own best friend." Hershel looks saddened by what he's saying, genuinely regretful.

"It's not like you'd be living in the same house. They've got a whole neighborhood fenced in, something like eight houses. Got power, better established crops, greenhouses, river to fish in. Hell, I saw a damn meat smoker."

"And we're already living with one man who tried to kill his best friend," Beth mutters. "Or did y'all forget what Carl saw? How Rick stabbed a man who surrendered? Then blamed us for it?"

The teenager is edging away from her family, making her way to Carl's side. She lays a hand on the boy's tense shoulders. "Not that we get a vote, but more people are safer, not less. We stay here, it's less."

"They got a doctor, Lori. A genuine, went to medical school doctor." No point mentioning the man's a shrink just yet.

"Then you have to go, Mom."

"Hershel is doing just fine, and Maggie is learning." Lori looks torn, though. 

"What's your objection, Lori? Can't be any attachment to Otis," Daryl asks. He even keeps his voice reasonably sympathetic, which might make Carol proud.

"All things considered, I can't see how I would be welcomed in a community that Shane's built."

"Ain't gotta be the damned prom queen, woman. The invitation is open, and the doctor was pointed out after the baby was mentioned. Don't have the feeling Walsh is banking on any interaction, either. Might change for the baby itself."

Honestly, he might eat his crossbow if Walsh and that statuesque woman, Michonne, aren't a couple by Christmas.

Carl steps away from Beth back to his mother, sliding his arms around her still too-thin frame that makes her belly look larger than it should be. "You gotta go, Mom. A real doctor is too important for the baby, and Daryl already said traveling around isn't all that safe."

"Perhaps Carl is right, Lori," Hershel says calmly. "You should take the best chance you can for your child."

Lori hugs Carl and looks toward Rick in the distance, who seems to have calmed to talk to Morgan. "If Carl and I go, what about Rick?"

"Walsh is aware of his issues. He said that if more help were available when he started slipping, maybe Rick wouldn't be in this shape. And Morgan says they can organize something secure if Rick can't keep separate."

"See, Mom? A doctor for you and Dad both. And a house to stay in. You remember all those houses on Shane's road. They were big ones."

After a few more minutes of watching Rick, Lori nods. "Alright. Carl and I will go, if the idea doesn't mess Rick up."

"Guess we best go see about that then. Rest of y'all can discuss and decide." 

Daryl doesn't stay to listen to any discussion, escorting Lori and Carl to the kennel.

The boy steps to the fence and stares at his father. Rick's been crying, whether from joy or relief, who knows. "You heard about Shane and Sophia, right, Dad?"

Rick nods, hugging himself as he paces. "And Andrea and Merle."

Daryl likes that he doesn't forget the other two.

"We're going to be moving back home, sort of, Dad." Daryl suppresses a snort at the decisive statement when Loei said it hinged on Rick. "Do you think you can be safe there? Among people like Shane?"

"Morgan says we're all invited," Rick says, rubbing at his arms. "Is that what you want?"

Daryl's a little afraid of exactly how much power of decision Rick would give Carl ro make up for that night in the field. For now, he's going to let it slide, but it bears watching. 

"Yes. We should go home. Maybe not our house, but at least close."

"Morgan says it's very safe there," Rick acknowledges. "And he mentioned a doctor."

It's good to hear he isn't the only one dangling the doctor as bait.

"Want to get back on the road as soon as I can. If not everyone is going, that's tonight, since we won't need to pack supplies," Daryl tells them.

Lori looks a little petrified, and Carl looks relieved. 

Rick just looks around the kennel. "Would I be able to shower first? A real one, not the camp shower you rigged up?"

"Don't see why not." Daryl unlocks the padlock and swings the door open. Rick steps outside the kennel for the first time in weeks. 

He's nearly tipped over by a hug from Carl, who backs away as quickly as he darted forward, not giving Rick a chance to respond. "You gotta keep getting better, Dad. Take your meds and all."

Rick looks around the little group and sighs. "I can do that."

They file away back toward the house where the others are waiting. They seem divided now, with T-Dog seeming stuck in the middle. Daryl isn't entirely surprised that Beth is looking angry and opposed to her family.

"We must decline the invitation," Hershel says. "It would not be easy for us to cohabitate with the man who killed Otis."

Beth snorts. "They're declining the invitation. I'm going."

"Bethie, you can't leave your family," Maggie says. "You're a kid, and you don't understand."

"Guess you forgot my birthday made me a legal adult for the old world rules, huh, Maggie. You aren't my mother, and if I think my father is making another decision not in my best interest, I will leave him to it."

"He's a killer, Beth!"

It's the teenager's next words that make Daryl's heart ache. "So am I, Maggie, or have you forgotten since the walkers let you keep your hands clean?"

He thinks she could have punched her sister and had a less painful impact from Maggie's expression.

"That's different, Bethie," Hershel begins.

"How do you know? No one's talked to Shane to ask what really happened. Yet we're convicting him anyway. Stay here and spite yourselves if you need to, but y'all know it isn't the smart decision. We leaving today, Daryl?"

He nods, hating to add to the family strife. But if Beth's dead set on going, it's safer she goes with him and not alone later. The blonde disappears inside the house, presumably to pack.

Hershel looks devastated, and Maggie is a mix of that and angry. Glenn puts a hand on Maggie's arm. "Maybe we go, so we can keep an eye on her."

That finally tips their hand, because Hershel rubs his face and nods. "We can't split up the family."

"For what the word of a stranger is worth," Morgan says, "I think Beth has the right of it. You should hear the man out. I don't think you will find him the person you remember."

"Do we leave today if we all go?" Glenn asks.

"If we can pack it all. Still plenty of daylight left," Daryl says. "No sense leaving behind good supplies. Y'all get your heads wrapped around it while Rick showers."

The former deputy takes that as a dismissal and heads inside. Daryl just heads for the barn to get the rest of his and Carol's things. He'll finish sorting out the people chaos later.

Damn, he wishes he had Carol here with her ability to coax people into things. Sorting out all the emotional mess is going to take weeks, and he dreads every minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters that throws a lot of stink bombs out to sort later. 
> 
> Beth will seek independence from her family... Not so much taking sides as wanting to be considered the adult she officially is (I aged her up slightly). Her own issues with having killed to protect will be explored.
> 
> And obviously nothing is resolved other than moving back to King County with just about everyone.


	15. Finding Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michonne and Maggie have a minor clash of wills that causes Michonne to claim the leadership role Shane offered her, and Eastman begins the monumental task of counseling diverse personalities.

**October 16, 2010**

Daryl finds himself alone with his brother for the first time since he found him again, and part of him feels a trickle of guilt for that. It's not like he avoided him, but Merle seems content and settled in a way that Daryl isn't used to seeing. The older man watches the kids and Walsh disappear around the curve before turning back to Daryl.

"How big a shit show is the really gonna be, little brother?"

"I wish like hell I knew. If it was just Rick, that I could get a handle on, but add in Hershel's family and anything the others aren't saying yet, and it's like a damned powder keg waiting to blow."

"Figure I'll give you a chance to get them settled before I show my face. Couple of them have good reason to be wary of me, and I stirred enough shit in your life already."

Daryl's surprise is great enough that he lets it show on his face. Rather than make fun of it, Merle just gives him a slow smile and fumbles a piece of gum out of a vest pocket. The scent of the spearmint crosses Daryl's senses as his brother opens the wrapper and separates the gum one handed with practiced ease.

"See you later, baby brother." Merle takes a step away before pausing. "But if you do need me? I'll come."

"I'll remember that. G'night, Merle." Merle was all he had for so many years that it's still a novelty to have Carol and the others to rely on. Even before, counting on Merle was a risk once the man hit adulthood. Now? Maybe there's hope for more than one Dixon to stand on their own two feet.

T-Dog and Andrea are waiting on the porch. "The good news is there's no shouting so far, right?" the other man quips to Daryl.

"There is that." Daryl reaches for the door and steps inside. They follow, and Andrea's appearance brings Lori near to tears. The blonde goes and perches on her chair arm, patting Lori's shoulder. It reminds Daryl that Andrea got out of a vehicle to put Lori and Beth inside.

Rick probably isn't the only one feeling guilty relief that the blonde is alive and well.

"We got places for everyone?" Daryl asks, looking where Michonne seems to be filling everyone in. Rick and the doc are missing, off in a bedroom for privacy, he guesses.

Carol smiles, leaning into him when he comes to stand next to her. "T-Dog, Karen, and Noah are taking the house across the road. That gives Rick his own room. Same for Lori. Glenn and Maggie are taking the master, and we'll need to shift bunk beds from the next house down the road for Hershel and Beth."

Daryl's of the opinion the teenager needs her own space, but that's a battle for later. "T-Dog and I can get those switched tonight."

"What about Carl? Is he staying with Lori?" Maggie asks, scanning the room and frowning.

"He's staying tonight with Shane, so we can decide on anything else tomorrow," Lori answers.

"He already has a room at the house, so of course, that's always an option." Michonne's words get everyone's attention. "But we can expand as needed, too. There three other houses not yet in use, since I'll likely assign the one they're at to Paul's group."

"Is that a good idea allowing Carl to stay with Shane considering all he's done?" Maggie asks, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

Daryl watches as the friendly but detached air Michonne wears melts away in an instant to a cold and clinical expression that makes a chill run down his spine. He's seen the woman's katana out of its back sheath during her morning exercise, and it is most certainly not a prop or something recently learned.

"After all he's done involves saving the lives of several children, Miss Greene. Implying that a child he's loved the boy's entire life is in danger from him will win you no friends nor sympathy from those who actually know him."

"He killed our friend! Otis didn't do anything wrong."

"Aside from shooting a twelve-year-old boy?"

"That was an accident! He didn't deserve to die for it."

"And yet you are convinced Shane is entirely at fault without ever speaking to him. That attitude is why people were entitled to a trial, before. But I am aware of far more of the situation than you are, because I asked." She turns to Lori. "I can assure you, there is no safer place on this property for your son, or mine would not live there."

Lori manages a wavering smile. "You don't need to reassure me. I talked to him long enough to know he's himself again."

"I'm not answering to a killer," Maggie states. Poor Glenn looks torn between reassuring her and backing away as Michonne returns her cold gaze to the younger woman.

"What gave you the impression that Shane is the leader here?" 

Daryl wonders what the woman did for a living once upon a time as she flicks her dreads back and studies Maggie. Something educated, from the pattern of her speech. Reminds him of Andrea, actually.

"From what I can tell, you've been following Daryl's lead for weeks and Rick's before that. You answer to Daryl, and I will work with him and whomever Paul's group designates. Stay in your own little world down here, my people will stay in mine, and we'll all coexist for the people who need us to do so."

Ignoring Maggie, who seems a little lost for words, Michonne turns to Daryl. "That sound acceptable to you?"

Daryl assents after a scan of the room. No one seems to object, even Maggie, who jerks her head in a brief nod. Any further conversation is interrupted by the sound of an engine and voices. T-Dog looks out the window and chuckles despite the tension of the room.

"Apparently, Sophia knows how to drive now. Think we're about to get a food delivery." The man opens the door for Sophia to enter after Michonne waves her inside, but she's followed by Duane and Patrick. 

The girl looks around the room and arches a brow under the shaggy bangs across the right side of her face. "Well, aren't y'all just a room full of rays of sunshine." She slides the big crockpot onto the counter and hugs her mother. The boys deliver boxes and scamper back out the door.

"We do have plenty of supplies," Carol tells her. "But it's sweet for you to bring things down."

"We just brought what you made for tonight and things Carl said they didn't have, like milk and butter, and half of what we gathered today because we won't eat it all in time."

The boys return with two bushel baskets, one full of field peas of some sort, and the other with squash and tomatoes. While Hershel cleared the garden back at the old place, they didn't have nearly this variety or quantity. They simply didn't have the time for it to grow by the time they settled.

"This is a lot of fresh food," Hershel observes, taking the basket from Duane.

"One of the neighbors had a few acres planted for her farmer's market business. We've been babying it along and following her instructions."

Patrick huffs and sets his basket down carefully. "We, as in we help Sophia. She's the green thumb."

Sophia squeezes Carol gently and wiggles away to snag a paper bag out of one of the boxes and hand it to Lori. "Carl sent these up for you. They're washed. We're headed out to check our trotlines. Can Carl go along? Shane said that needed extra permission."

"How far out are you going?" Lori asks, peering into the bag and smiling before she pulls out a ripe fig.

"Just on the oxbow. Debris in the river messes up the lines, so we just fish out in the channel right now."

Lori's gaze tracks across Sophia and Patrick's well-armed forms. "That sounds fine."

"See you at supper, mama." Daryl is a little surprised when Sophia bumps him lightly with a shoulder on her way by and smiles. "You too, Daryl."

Her shadows trail her to the pink Bug, and she backs it down the long drive with good skill before chugging off home. "Wonder if she would consider painting that crazy thing?"

Michonne laughs. "Pose it to her as a new skill she needs to learn and save us all the eyesore. Just don't let Merle help, because he's been suggesting adding rainbows and flowers, and she's quirky enough to humor him."

"Does she drive often?" Lori asks, biting into a fig and making an enraptured face at the taste.

"Only on property now. Shane taught her back when it was just the two of them, because he didn't want her stranded if something happened to him." Michonne makes her way to the door.

"Michonne?"

She turns when Lori calls out to her, looking curious. 

"Are the children recovering okay?" The pregnant woman's hand to her throat signals what she's not asking.

Michonne smiles kindly at Lori. "Patrick will always have scars, but he will tell you better him than the younger children. The best thing for all three of them is both knowing the men will never hurt anyone else again and that they have a family again to keep them safe."

"That's good to hear."

"We'll certainly make sure if anyone else tries such a thing, they can rescue themselves like Sophia did, but even if they can't, they'll always know someone is coming for them."

"Like Shane did," Carol says softly, looking toward Maggie and Hershel.

"Like Shane did. He came back with those kids, and they didn't care that he was covered in blood. All they saw was someone willing to do whatever it took to keep them safe. In this world? If you aren't willing to go that far to keep the children alive, make sure they never have to rely on you."

Daryl catches the motion of Karen draping her arms over Noah's shoulders and hugging the teen close. 

Michonne's expression softens at the sight of the teen. "You're all welcome to join our morning self defense classes. I know Daryl's been teaching what he knows, but we figure every skill any of us can layer onto the kids is one more that prepares them."

"What time?" It's Beth who speaks, stepping away from the counter she's been leaning against.

"Sunrise. It's best to do it before breakfast. Every other day, and tomorrow is one." Michonne studies the older teen for a minute and smiles at her determined expression. "I'd best be getting home before supper is cold."

Once the door shuts behind her, Maggie turns to Beth. "You don't need to go down there to learn anything. We can teach you."

Beth scoffs. "Did you not notice the woman has a katana, Maggie? I'm sure as hell learning whatever she'll teach me."

Daryl hides a smile at the enthusiasm in Beth's voice. He's a little surprised that Hershel doesn't chide her for the language, but something about the older man's expression makes Daryl think he's fighting himself not to present the same objection.

"Carol and I will be there, Hershel. We're staying there for the time being." It's a wonder no one caught on they weren't assigned a room, but since they were bunking in the barn loft, he supposes it was easier to overlook.

The veterinarian sighs and nods. "Beth is correct that we are condemning without having all the information. We don't even know that Rick knew everything, and we forgave him for keeping it from us."

"Redetermining our moral limits is an ongoing task in this new world, I'm afraid." 

Everyone turns to see Dr. Eastman entering the room from the hallway. Rick is behind him, looking drained, but he makes his way to Lori's chair and reaches for her hand. She takes it, lacing their fingers together with a tired smile.

"I'll extend the same offer to anyone here that I've given the others. My professional skills are at your service. A session might involve helping me milk a goat or repair a fence, but my figurative door is open. But I can reassure you that no one on this property is a danger to others at this time."

"You're saying Shane actually talks to you?" Maggie asks, looking doubtful.

"I'm saying that I have assessed the man and found him no danger to himself or others. Considering I worked for the Georgia Department of Corrections before the world ended, I would say I am uniquely qualified to make that determination."

"How can you say he won't snap again?"

"You can't guarantee that of anyone. Should you be faced with a similar decision, kill someone you barely know to save your sister or father, only then would you know if you are capable of the same. I know evil, Miss Greene, up close and personal. While he may have committed acts that can be seen as such, Shane Walsh is no more evil than you or I."

When Maggie just nods and leans into the comforting arm that Glenn offers, Eastman turns to Lori.

"I would assess your husband's condition is the same. The pressures that led to his breakdown are removed. With a support system and counseling, I see no reason to confine him for his own safety or others."

Lori smiles up at Rick. "That's good to hear."

"I will request that you adhere to the request to stay within the property for now, Rick. Give the young lady time to adjust to you being a normal, fallible human and not the person that haunts her nightmares."

"Why does Sophia have nightmares about Rick?" Carol asks, sounding distressed. "He didn't intentionally lose her in the woods. I would understand nightmares about Ed, but not Rick."

"Consider it a symbol of all that went wrong seemingly all at once in her young life without enough time to deal with it. She was alone and afraid, and she had to care for someone she can't help but see as another casualty of the same thing. Then she met two more, one as damaged as her own guardian."

"How bad was it, if I'm allowed to ask?" Rick looks apprehensive.

"The wound got infected, and Sophia was forced to debride the dead tissue without proper tools or painkillers. The infection still nearly killed him, a toxic shock syndrome based on her description. Probably strep and not staph, as I doubt she could have saved him if it were the latter."

"Jesus." Rick sounds stricken. "No wonder she doesn't want to be near me."

"Give it time, and she'll make the adjustment, but it needs to be at her pace."

"I agree." Rick looks to Carol, who smiles reassuringly at him. "I owe her that much."

"Thank you," Carol tells him. "And if everyone will excuse me, I promised to eat supper with my daughter."

Daryl makes his own farewells, and Eastman walks back with them. Andrea stays behind, probably needing to reconnect with those she's been separated from.

"Dr. Eastman?"

"Call me Elwood, please, Carol."

"Sophia is going to get better, right?"

The man doesn't answer immediately, but his smile is gentle when he does. "It's possible that she may suffer from PTSD for the rest of her life. But I am quite certain she stands a strong chance of overcoming the worst of it. She is very determined to do so."

"And you're offering her medical training?"

"She has a gift for the field, so as long as she wants to learn, I will teach her."

"Would you also teach me? I've been studying and training with Hershel, but the more teachers the better."

"I would be quite happy to. Perhaps we can set up classes and have Hershel and our other doctor all teach those interested."

Daryl laughs and tweaks Carol's hand at seeing her happy grin. "Gonna end up with a full house, doc."

"A society settled enough to pass on its skills is one not yet fallen beyond repair. I would be delighted with a full house of those learning to heal."

Funny thing is, Daryl thinks he would be, too, if all the children learning to defend and kill could only learn to heal instead. In their world, he supposes they'll settle for children who can do both, with each knowledge balancing the other.

Daryl can find delight in that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Maggie. I need a contrast character with the oomph to speak up, so she's getting to be the grumpy one for a bit. She and Michonne will eventually work it out.
> 
> Don't worry... Beth won't abandon her favorite archer, but she has a love affair with bladed weapons to get started. 😉
> 
> As for leadership, each subgroup will continue as they usually do on decision making, just with a designated person to handle the diplomacy (Paul will probably make Aaron that sacrificial penguin...)


	16. Repair the Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's discomfort with the overcrowded Walsh house leads to him and Sophia bonding over housecleaning and Merle's biggest secret.

** October 20, 2010 **

The slow routine they settle into at the new place, which seems to be slowly earning the name Riverside, worries Daryl a little. He doesn't like to borrow trouble, but he knows human nature too well to think that the careful segregation of the more volatile elements of their groups is not likely to last. At least none of his original group seems to resent him being their voice in things, despite not actually living with them.

Four days is enough for Karen and her boy Noah to drift to the point they're integrating more to Paul's people. Karen seems far more cheerful with Olivia and Denise than the women she's been around the last few weeks. Then again, no one in Paul's group tried to attack the child she fosters, and Olivia is another foster mother for emotional support.

While Lori and Rick stay put out of medical consideration for one and actual restriction for the other, Maggie still isn't over Michonne's firm reprimand. She hasn't left the individual property, either, effectively trapping Glenn. Daryl wonders where the line is for that relationship turning unhealthy. Maybe he should ask one of the shrinks.

Hershel might not have braved talking to Shane Walsh yet, but he's at least gone as far as the extensive gardens of the old Gloria place that Paul's people now occupy. It doesn't surprise Daryl one bit that the old man seeks out plants. It's just a matter of time before he's two houses down being a veterinarian again.

Beth and Carl behave like they've always been here, with Beth only returning home to sleep. She's hunted with Daryl as he explores new territory and gets the lay of the land. But outside of that, she's been shadowing Michonne and learning the exercise routines the woman requires before she'll teach her to use a blade.

Carl is so clingy to his quasi-uncle that he rarely leaves the man for anything other than twice a day check-ins on his mother. At least the kid is seeing the big teddy bear of a shrink at Walsh's insistence.

Carol? She's so damned happy she fucking glows with it, doing her best not to smother Sophia and carve her own spot here. He loves the easy smiles and laughter that are a constant now.

Michonne, noticing Daryl's unease with the crowded house, pointed him across the road this morning. "Not trying to evict you, but you don't strike me as the type to easily live under someone else's roof. Might make Merle feel comfortable enough to sleep in a bed again, if you're in the same house."

Considering him being there evicts the woman from her own damn bed, he finds himself standing in the yard of the indicated house. The road is a hodgepodge mix of homes, everything from one high end double wide to the almost antebellum home turned over to Paul's group. This one is somewhere in the middle, sort of a ranch style built into a hillside that rises up and away from the Walsh property.

He's not sure if it makes the house a true two-story or just one with an exposed basement. Steps lead up to a massive deck style porch similar to the one wrapping around Walsh's lakefront house. The lower level has no entrance he can see from the front, just a series of windows. Circling the house, he finds doors leading into the lower level, like some sort of shop. They're locked, so he climbs the hill further to reach the backyard. 

The house looks single story from here, the lower floor dug into the hillside like a basement. A large metal outbuilding takes up a large portion of the clearing behind the house. It has three rolling bay doors, plus lean-tos jutting off both sides. A fifth wheel camper is parked under one lean-to, and a collection of lawn care equipment under the other.

The area that was once lawn is now a tiny orchard. Daryl grins, recognizing more of Sophia's handiwork in the neat rows of three to five foot trees she probably rescued from a plant nursery. They're probably fruit or nut trees, with the girl's habit of reinforcing the food supply.

Deciding to leave the outbuilding for later, he climbs the steps onto the covered back porch, noting how everything seems to be mostly as the owners left it. Much like many other houses Daryl's explored these last few months, it feels like the owners are away on vacation and just forgot to pay someone for lawn care. 

Finding the key under the ceramic gnome where Michonne said it would be, he lets himself in. The first room is a kitchen, fairly narrow, but with nice enough appliances. There's a gas fireplace along one wall next to a door that has stairs leading down. He thinks someone kinked up the floorspace design, since using this open area near the door would block the walkway.

On the other side of the kitchen wall, there's a dining table with six chairs but looks expandable if he can find the leaf insert and other chairs. A big comfortable brown couch sits along the front wall of the living room/dining room combo, with two recliners forming an L with the couch to face a big television. 

Down the hall, he finds two bedrooms on the front side of the house. One isn't furnished, but the signs of where a bed frame once sat are still there as indentions in the carpet. He bets it was probably one of the bunk beds now across the street, based on the childish decor. The second bedroom has that generic guest room feel to it.

The hallway bathroom across from the smaller bedroom is decent sized, although the floral wallpaper and pink theme screams bad taste to him. Next to it, occupying the back corner of the house, is a fairly large master bedroom complete with doggie steps to reach the king size bed. Betting these people had one of those small, useless yap dogs, he ventures into it to see what the small door that would lead behind the other bathroom is.

Apparently, it's the world's tiniest bathroom. He laughs at his own sense of snobbishness, like he ever lived in anything this nice before. But he likes the idea of bathroom space more private, even if the room only has a shower so small he would bump elbows trying to get clean.

That leaves the lower floor to explore, so he heads for those stairs. They're narrow and dark, making him backtrack to where he saw a flashlight on a charger in the kitchen. It's still holding enough charge to shine brightly, so he makes it down the stairs.

It's definitely more basement than originally planned living space, he thinks. To his left, the space under the living room and kitchen is a massive workshop with those double shop doors he saw outside. Damn room is a virtual hardware store for gadgets and supplies. He decides against lifting the lid on either of the two massive chest freezers, because there's no generator running.

Back down the hall, he finds a sewing room that has windows up high. He thinks Carol would really like the small, narrow room with its cheery yellow paint and shelf upon shelf of fabric. Across the hall is a utility room that seems oversized for the washer and dryer it holds, even after he finds the small bathroom behind the appliances. He supposes the open space will work well for storing supplies, and being a basement, likely stay cool.

The final room runs the width of the house, covering what would be both the master and guest room above. It's some sort of game room, with a pool table, gas fireplace, and even a kitchenette that he suspects was more minibar than actual kitchen from what he finds in the cabinets.

"Daryl?" It's not Carol, as he would expect to come looking for him, but Sophia.

"Downstairs!" Unsure if she can hear him from here, he heads for the stairs and repeats himself.

The lanky teenager appears, smiling down at him. "What do you think of the house?"

The hopeful note in her voice would probably have him saying okay even if the damn place was a former meth lab shack, he thinks. Sophia hasn't avoided him, but she hasn't gone out of her way to speak to him either. She wants her mother here, where her two homes are almost within shouting distance.

"It's real nice. You think Merle might like the old game room as an apartment?" With the downstairs bathroom having a shower stall, plus the kitchenette, his brother would have privacy without being outside the house like that camper he never slept in.

She nods, shaggy hair bobbing, and he makes the trek up the stairs so he can shut off the flashlight. 

"You think your mama will like the kitchen?"

Sophia studies the little room and smiles. "It's actually bigger than what she used to have. More cabinets. Prettier, too. Her favorite color is red, you know."

He did, although it was more from observation than Carol actually stating it. Daryl figures the bright red checkered curtains in the windows and red themed small appliances like the toaster and coffee pot he can see are cute enough. At least the room isn't overwhelmed with the vivid color.

"This okay with you?" he asks, feeling like her opinion counts the most. The last thing he wants is his problem with crowded spaces making her feel he doesn't want to be around her. She never batted an eye at his relationship with Carol. "Us moving across the street instead of sticking in the same house?"

"Do I get the front corner bedroom?" she requests, expression hopeful.

Daryl thinks of that bland room compared to Sophia's flashy one across the road, but nods. Carol will probably enjoy helping her daughter redecorate. The reality of the room kicks in and he smiles.

"That one lets you keep an eye on things, sorta, doesn't it?" Between the hill and the height of the house, the bedroom Sophia asked for has a bird's eye view of a portion of Walsh's house through the trees, as well as some of the lake beyond. Come winter, with the deciduous trees dropping their leaves entirely, she can probably see even more.

The kid really is a budding tactician, because she just shrugs and runs a finger along the dusty counter. "We didn't do much here. Took stuff from the middle room when the little kids came. Shane says they had twins about Molly's age. So it will need a lot of cleaning."

"Think your mama will be offended if we start that without her?" As much as he's wanted to bridge the gap with this child he barely knows, she's stayed busy in her normal routine. All the tasks and lessons he shared with Carl and Beth are already well covered by Walsh, Michonne, and Merle, as well as her mother. 

Cleaning seems like a stupid thing to offer to spend time with her, but she grins. "I think it would be a good present for her. She would like us doing it together, yeah?"

Sophia is already moving, retrieving bottles of cleaner from under the kitchen sink. Her words make him realize she's noticed Carol's wistful looks between them, too. Since Carol's occupied today in a midwifery lesson with Eastman and Beth that Sophia isn't attending for some reason, he figures now is as good a time as any.

Throwing the doors and windows open to take advantage of the cooler late October temperature and the breeze off the oxbow lake, he finds that Sophia inherited her mother's gift for unobtrusively ferreting out information. He suspects by the time they meet in the middle of the basement hall in their mutual mopping project that the kid probably knows as much about him in a morning as most people would learn in a lifetime.

She falls quiet as she looks past him to the game room they're hoping Merle will accept as being part of the household without cramping his tall, burly form onto a couch. The camping lanterns they hung to light the areas with no windows cast shadows on her face. "Can I ask you something about Merle?"

Almost anyone else asking that question would send his hackles up to protect his brother. But Daryl's had enough time to confirm the mutual affection of Sophia and his brother to not expect anything cruel from the girl. "Sure."

"Who is Jewel?"

The innocent question sends a jolt of pain through Daryl that hasn't lessened despite more than a decade passing. His hands go whiteknuckled on the mop handle, and he takes a deep breath.

"You don't have to answer. It seems really painful to him, when he slips up something about her."

Daryl swallows hard. "He talks about Jewel to you?"

"Sometimes. Just enough that I don't think she grew up, because all the small stories are about her being a kid."

Jesus Christ, this girl is Carol's daughter alright. To not only draw enough of Merle's trust to get him to share a little, but also to clue in that Jewel Dixon never made it to adulthood… that's a leap many adults wouldn't make.

Daryl honestly thought most of the good in his brother's soul died out with his niece, ripped out piece by piece as Jewel lost ground in her three year battle against Ewing's sarcoma. It occurs to him for the first time that Merle's state of mind when he amputated his hand probably was some nightmare reflection of Jewel's last years.

Keeping up on the literature for the disease like a private addiction of his own, he knows that nowadays, his niece would have had more options, maybe. But twelve years ago? The months of chemotherapy were to chase the tumors out of her lungs. The doctors never even discussed sparing her right leg below the knee.

All that hell she went through, to get only nine months of freedom before the bastard cancer came back. Infesting her pelvic bones on round two, amputation wasn't an option. Chemo and radiation made her violently ill until she begged no more.

Ever a undauntable Dixon to her core, it still took six months in hospice before she stopped fighting.

But that's too much to share, especially with a trusting kid the same age as Jewel when she first got sick. The fondness for Sophia didn't start his brother's sobriety, but Daryl thinks it reinforces the will to keep it. One day, he swears he'll ask Michonne about those early days and how Merle turned that corner.

"Jewel was his daughter," he answers at last. "She died of cancer when she was sixteen."

"Oh. I'm so sorry." She actually tears up at the thought, and it's an easy instinct now to reach out and hug the girl after weeks of looking out for Carl and Beth.

That's when Carol finds them, Sophia's head tucked under his chin as she sniffles against his chest. He gives a slight shake of his head at her concerned expression and gives Sophia a little squeeze. "Your mama found us before we finished her surprise."

That shifts her somber mood, and she releases him to turn and smile at her mother. "Did you look over the house to find us, Mama?"

"I did. It's a nice place, isn't it?" Carol smiles at them both. She lets Sophia lead her off on a tour, trusting him to fill her in later about Sophia's upset.

Daryl goes to grab the lantern from the game room and studies it. Once, he would worry about Merle living in a household with anyone other than him, since his brother's a happy drunk but a mean addict. He thinks he has to trust Merle's own Dixon stubbornness to hold solid now that he's found anchors in his turbulent world. Making him a little apartment down here, especially if Sophia and the other kids help? That should be another anchor point.

It's been so damned long since Daryl had his older brother at his side. The man of the last dozen years is not the man who raised him. Merle's never been suave and gentlemanly, but the rough and tumble man who snatched sixteen year old Daryl out of that trashy cabin? Him, Daryl wants back so badly he can practically taste it.

Resolving to figure it out with the help of the girl he knows will happily be his partner in crime and the woman he loves, Daryl laughs softly at the idea it takes a damned apocalypse to piece the fractured Dixons back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merle's remaining backstory will come out in his sequel, as well as his recovery under Michonne's care.
> 
> Since I know it'll be asked, Merle is 52 in this, with Daryl 8 years younger at 44.
> 
> Sophia and Daryl will have a slow slide into being buddies and then family, no drama planned there.


	17. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl settles into formal leadership by getting to the bottom of what is eating at Maggie and making her miserable.

**November 3, 2010**

There are times that life seems so damned normal here that it jars Daryl to remember the dead stalk the living outside their sanctuary. It's partly due to his family tucked around him, he thinks, since he and Sophia set to cleaning their house two weeks ago. The teenager set her own schedule back and forth, and Daryl sure as hell loves the nights she stays in her room. It settles something in both his brother and Carol when she does, which in turn, settles Daryl's world into one of warm contentment.

Beth is another story, a complex one he never expected to be in charge of at this level. Turning the angry teenager over to Carol last week, he walked down and settled matters with Hershel. The fact that the old man once again trusts Daryl to look after his youngest child is a boon to his self confidence in the stepfather role he's stepped into with Sophia.

They aren't there yet, not like they would be if things went at a normal pace and the teenager was present for all the changes. But she views him with this sense of fond amusement that tells him they'll get there, eventually. Right now, he's more of an uncle, and that's a role he knows well… and missed.

Michonne has most of the female population willing over in one of her training classes this morning. Daryl watches for a little bit, assessing for anything he could use, before deciding to check in on the Grimes-Greene household. As he walks toward the other end of the compound, he's passed by giggling children on bicycles. Well, two on bicycles and one pedaling a tricycle as fast as his tiny legs can manage.

Patrick is nominally watching them, as the teen is walking along, but not trying to keep pace with the older two. The teenager isn't slacking on security, as he's armed with both a shotgun slung across his skinny back and a handgun and knife at his belt. He looks at Daryl curiously and crosses the road to walk beside him. 

"You taught Beth and Carl to use a bow, right?"

"I did. You want to learn?"

The boy nods. "Shane and Merle said I could learn by repetition, but I would rather have a teacher."

As far as Daryl can tell, Shane seems to be a decent hunter, but sticks to firearms. Merle's amputation makes anything with a bow problematic, although he suspects his brother could teach the kid if Patrick asked him. "You just want to learn the bow?"

That makes the boy pause in thought. "What else is there?"

It makes Daryl hide a smile. Patrick isn't as bold a personality as Sophia and the other teens Daryl's trained. It just means his need to learn isn't as obvious. But the kid has a quiet nature and the ability to be still that makes Daryl suspect he might take to the woods as easily as Beth did.

"Could teach you snares and tracking, too."

It earns him a bright smile as Patrick settles his glasses with a bump of a finger. "That would be amazing, if you think I can learn."

"You can. How about you meet me after lunch? We'll take a boat out to the other side of the lake where the rabbits are running."

That also gives Daryl time to run it by the boy's guardians that they're leaving the safety of the fences. He's seen Sophia, Patrick, and Carl all go hunting with Shane in the weeks he's been here, and Daryl's taken Carl, Beth, and Noah out. But Carl's the only kid that seems to see it as a joint effort so far. With the heightened protectiveness Shane and Michonne have over Patrick and the other rescued kids, Daryl prefers to err on being too polite.

"And archery lessons?"

"Let me see about getting some more bows, and then we'll get started. Teach you and any of the others."

"Is Molly old enough to learn?"

Daryl looks toward the little girl, whose once shorn head is now sprouting short curls like her brother's as she coasts her bike to a stop at the curve to wait on the other two before she aims back toward her house. Weeks of good food and liberal exercise are removing the skeletal look the girl still had when he first saw her. "If I can find youth bows, her and Luke both. I was Luke's age when Merle started teaching me."

Only Andre and baby Gracie are too small, really. Merle taught himself by dogged trial and error, and Daryl can still remember his brother's intense, too-thin face as he explained the idea of getting food that didn't rely on their parents. Sometimes in the summers, they spent weeks in the woods, living off what they hunted, fished, or foraged. 

"That would be awesome. Molly is really scared of guns, but she likes your crossbow."

Daryl files that fact away, reminding himself to make sure Shane is aware of that issue. Young as she is, it doesn't matter quite yet. But one day, Molly will need to overcome that fear for safety reasons, if nothing else. They reach the curve, and Patrick bids him farewell as he follows his charges back down the road.

When he reaches the house, Lori and Rick are both outside near the fire pit area. She's settled in a camp chair with a sketchbook, and Rick is building an outdoor kitchen from plans in a book Sophia let Daryl borrow. Having something to do with clear plans and goals seems to be doing wonders for Rick's mental health. 

Eastman actually told Daryl that the accidental work therapy Shane and Sophia fell into by improving and securing the homestead is the same help Rick needs. The former deputy is used to working hard for something more than himself. It makes Daryl realize that all those hours on watch are probably what cracked his friend's mental fortitude in the first place.

"How's it going?" he asks, stopping to watch as Rick carefully adds a layer of mortar from his mix in the wheelbarrow. 

"Base is done. Now I gotta do the sides and arch." Rick points to a crate with some metal and cast iron in it. "They found me the metal pieces I needed last supply run. Stovepipe, chimney cap, grill, griddle… all of it."

The man looks so happily content that it makes Daryl smile. "Not gonna need that inside kitchen at all, are you?"

Lori laughs, pausing in her sketching. When he sneaks a look, Daryl sees she's drawing Rick as he works. "Maybe when it rains or gets really cold. I was thinking it might be nice to have some outdoor tables."

Even as they edge into November, Daryl can see the appeal, and he knows Shane and Michonne are using the big deck as an extended dining area still. "Can add it to the run when we furnish the school room."

Because that is an interesting project in itself, installing his brother as a teacher of sorts with the youngsters. Daryl thinks he might play hooky on any work duties a morning or two just to sit in and enjoy what Merle will teach. He knows Carol is planning to, since Sophia obviously got her drive to learn everything from her mama.

"Are adult students going to be allowed?" Lori asks, looking interested. She's been doing well since the move, even putting on weight at a rate that the medical staff are enthusiastic about.

"Carol intends to be there now and then, so sure, far as I know."

Rick takes a break from his bricklaying to drink from a water bottle. "Lori made some changes to the brick pattern, but it's got to be boring, just watching."

"No reason the oven can't be pretty and functional both."

Daryl supposes he agrees with Lori there. He looks toward the house, knowing he saw Hershel in the farmyard helping with the critters, but he didn't spot Maggie or Glenn anywhere. It's an issue he is setting out to tackle today, because everyone needs to pull their weight.

"Glenn and Maggie inside?"

From the grimaces on both faces, he knows the couple is fighting - again. Of all the people he expected to have trouble settling in here, Maggie was not one of them. The pragmatic farm girl and Glenn were always rock solid on getting things done when they were at the old place. She probably isn't going to be happy with Daryl, either.

He sighs heavily. "Time to go be leader, I suppose. Sure you aren't feeling like yelling a bit?"

Rick chuckles and shakes his head. "Glenn might listen to me, but Maggie? Think you're about the only one other than Beth who can outstubborn her."

"Well, shit." Daryl heads for the porch, not bothering to knock with the house still being multiple family. As soon as he opens the door, the fight stops, because Maggie claps her jaw shut when she sees him.

Glenn? Kid just looks like salvation just arrived. "Glenn? Need you to go down and help Carol on a project." Carol doesn't have any specific project yet, but Daryl figures she can find something once her class with Michonne is over.

If this was a cartoon, there would be a dust trail behind Glenn, he leaves so fast. That means Daryl is alone with Maggie, and she's too damn smart not to put two and two together. She crosses her arms, her posture all but screaming defiance.

"You gonna lecture me like Daddy and Lori?"

"I'm not your father, and I don't have to live with you." He shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter and propping himself on his hands. "Not here to lecture, because that implies you've got an option about straightening your ass up and stop acting like a spoiled brat."

Channeling his inner Merle throws Maggie for a loop. She gapes at him for a minute. Daryl has never needed to criticize Maggie's work ethic, so doesn't feel guilty doing it now.

"You're going to order me around?"

"Yes. Since you're proving you won't get involved on your own and that you're willing to bully Glenn so that he doesn't either, I'm going to tell you the terms. You can live up to them voluntarily, or you can be treated like a child. There are actual children making better contributions to the community than you are right now."

"I'm not working to benefit the man that killed Otis."

"See, the thing that confuses me is that I never heard you speak about the man or his wife once we left the farm, but now you're acting like he was your entire family rolled into one person.". Hell, Daryl hasn't heard her speak of her late stepmama or brother, if he thinks on it. It isn't a criticism he would normally make, because he understands people grieve differently and privately. But something is off here.

"It just feels wrong, to live with the man who killed him," Maggie mutters. "He shouldn't have gone on that run. If I went instead, he would still be alive."

Daryl feels for her, because he understands that kind of guilt. It ate at him for months, not putting a stop to Merle going into Atlanta. Just like with Otis, though, it's guilt that doesn't belong.

"Can you honestly say that Otis would have wanted you to take that risk when he needed to make amends for accidentally shooting Carl?"

To her credit, Maggie thinks about it before answering. "No, he wouldn't have."

"And until you talk to Shane Walsh, you won't know if things would have been different if you went instead of him or Shane." 

Daryl asked for his own sake, after Beth moved in, and got the whole sordid tale from both, as well as why Beth felt she needed to forgive the man. There's something admirable in the teenager believing in rehabilitation versus harsh punishment. Her quiet estimate of how many lives would have been lost if Shane died in that field gives Daryl chills.

"I don't want to speak to him."

"Then don't. But staying holed up in this house doing nothing isn't healthy. Starting this afternoon, you're going to go help Denise in the gardens. Get to know her, because I think you need a counselor almost as much as Rick does. Tomorrow, we're going on a run. Me, you, Morgan, and Paul."

"Not Glenn or T-Dog or Karen?"

"No, because I think Glenn needs time out of your shadow before he forgets who he was before he met you."

Maggie flinches and looks guilty. "The shrink told him that, too. It's what we were fighting about. I don't want to break things off with Glenn."

Her voice turns plaintive at the end, which tugs at the heartstrings Daryl pretends not to have. "Neither of us are saying you and Glenn need to split up. There's such a thing as too much time together, and with a bigger group, spending some of your daytime apart will help. Don't see me and Carol stuck up each other's ass, do you?"

Maggie's first reaction to the crude remark is shock, but then she laughs. "No, you aren't. I used to wonder why y'all were so happy to do stuff separate."

"You figure it out?"

"Yeah. You don't like seeming like you're bossing her around or supervising her, like Ed did. And Carol needs to feel independent."

Daryl just nods, glad she gets it. "Gotta tell you, Maggie, the way you've been around Glenn and your sister lately? Lots of shades of Ed or my daddy in that. Just because you weren't smacking them around, don't make how you're treating them right."

It guts her when Daryl tells her that, but Maggie doesn't protest. The fact that she recognizes her behavior as wrong is half the battle he's got here. She sinks into a kitchen chair, covering her face. "I just want them safe."

Daryl snags the chair across from her and sits. "Safe is good, yeah. But smothered isn't. They gotta keep growing into who they're meant to be."

It feels weird, implying that Glenn is still growing up when he's in a relationship with Maggie. But it's still true. The kid is barely in his twenties, and there's still so much life experience ahead of him. Although the same could be said for Maggie, considering she and Glenn are about the same age.

"I don't want to lose either of them."

Christ, she sounds like a lost kid, and Daryl reaches across the table and gently takes one of her wrists. He tugs, and she looks at him, confirming she's crying. "Then don't lose them. Let them be what they need to be. You never worried like this when I was training Beth, and we tangled with those rapists."

"Difference is, I knew you would die yourself before you let anything happen to Beth."

That gives Daryl an idea. "Do me a favor tonight. Come to supper and keep an open mind. Watch Shane and Michonne and the others with those kids. Talk to Sophia. You're afraid because you don't know them. So fix that."

Telling her that Beth is slotting into that neutral zone of kid-yet-not-kid with the core of the original group is something she can't understand without seeing the interactions. Beth is Daryl's responsibility now, and he is confident that Beth is as protected by the ones Maggie fears wouldn't keep her safe as their own children are. Hell, it seems the theme of the place, all the kids being adopted by all the adults.

Maggie takes a deep breath and nods, covering the hand Daryl still has on her wrist with her free hand and patting it. "Okay."

The sense of relief that settles over him is a welcome one. He didn't care for the idea that Maggie would go down that dark and bitchy path Lori took at the farm, so seeing her take the chance to be better? That feels fucking great.

He does walk her as far as the vegetable farm, watching as she goes to speak quietly with Denise. The blonde psychiatrist glances Daryl's way and waves before leading Maggie further into the winter ready fields.

The kids are still cycling on the road, joyous and carefree. It lifts Daryl's spirits further. When he spots Carol leaning outside the gate at Shane's amd watching the kids herself, he can't resist drawing her in for a kiss.

"You got Maggie to see the light," she states, smiling up at him, confident as ever that he succeeded.

"Yeah. She's coming for supper tonight." 

Carol hums thoughtfully. "Sounds like a good day for a fish fry. Think you might be up for a trip to the river with me?"

Since going fishing with Carol sounds like a slice of heaven, he sure as hell ain't saying no. His grin is enough of an answer, and she links hands with him to lead the way to conscripting Shane's boat and equipment for a few hours.

All this is just growing pains. Long as Daryl has Carol and his family, it'll all work out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we have two more chapters for this segment of the Hell series. One a family chapter and a final Daryl/Carol chapter. While there are parts of the brotherly dynamic that needs exploring, I feel like those work as well in Merle's story.
> 
> Merle's story will not launch immediately, instead waiting for the other Hell story to wind down, as I want to whittle it down to a single story at a time per series. I also still do not have a pairing for Merle's story, as my primary choice is young enough in canon that it doesn't fit my narrative of why he wasn't interested in Michonne (she's his daughter's age.). Deciding if I will age her up a little, or just let Merle be he happy bachelor uncle. 🤔


	18. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Michonne lead a team into Atlanta to find a prosthetic for Merle and end up with more than they bargained for.

** November 17, 2010 **

The pained roar from the basement makes Daryl jump from where he's at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes. The fact that Sophia, his helper for the task, groans gives him a slight warning before Merle's protest becomes a demand.

"Spitfire! Come get this damned demon cat!"

She giggles and claps her hand across her mouth, but loses the battle when Daryl starts laughing. "Does that cat really hate him that much?" he asks. 

It's not the first time Lucius decided to lie in wait somewhere to take claws to Merle's ankle. The big tom cat seems to be well aware he needs to wait for a person to take their boots off. He got Daryl once, but after a staredown between him and the cat, Lucius hasn't bothered again. Beth and Carol, he just staunchly ignores. But Merle? They rarely make it through an evening or morning when Sophia is over for the night.

"He's loud. It entertains Lucy when he fusses and cusses."

The big black cat appears at the top of the stairs, strolling across the room nonchalantly as if Merle isn't still spewing threats about cat kabobs. Daryl exchanges an amused look with Sophia. 

"You think Merle does it on purpose?" she asks.

Shrugging, Daryl gets back to his dishes. "Possible. He's got to have figured it out by now." At this point, his brother is probably just keeping Sophia amused at this point. Maybe even likes the damn cat and won't admit it. Merle and Lucius are two of a damn kind.

He hands the last dish off to Sophia. She dries it and tucks it on the shelf before looking at him with a tiny frown threatening. "Something wrong?"

Sighing, she shrugs. "You're gonna be careful today, right? No one's gone to Atlanta since Merle and Chonne left."

Daryl stills at the concern in the teenager's voice. Doing a mental tally, he realizes the team making the run to the city to raid the prosthetic lab at Georgia Tech contains over half of the adults Sophia claims as her family. Michonne, because she's one of their Atlanta natives. Merle, because he insisted. Daryl, because he isn't letting Merle go near Atlanta without him ever again.

He knows Shane wanted to go, the man looking like he considered arguing but wasn't stupid enough to insist on trading places with Michonne. No one's missed that the odd not-quite-relationship between the two finally tipped over to something full blown sometime in the last week. At least Michonne is about as unflappable and rock solid as they come, the kind of balance a man like Shane needs.

"Yeah, kiddo. I'll be careful, and I'll make sure Merle is, too." The reassurance earns him a firm hug. Her casual affection once she decided he was family still amazes him, just a little.

Thumps on the stairs signal Merle coming up, so she lets him go to hug Merle instead. There's no hesitation in his brother returning the embrace, and he plants a kiss on the top of Sophia's shaggy hair. "Be back by dark, Spitfire. Don't you fret yourself none."

"You best not do anything stupid," she warns. "Don't make me have to come find you."

The terrifying thought is that Daryl thinks she really would trek off to retrieve Merle now that he's one of hers. "Best get moving," he tells them. "Your mama and Beth probably got us all stocked up for the trip."

It may be intended to be a day trip, but they'll travel like they intend to be gone for a week. Letting the cat out of the house ahead of them, they head down to where the big SUV is being packed, along with a pickup truck. With six people going, fitting them all into the SUV would be a tight squeeze.

Farewells given, they navigate Morgan's series of booby traps with the man escorting them. T-Dog's joined Daryl's group in the SUV, while Glenn and Maggie follow in the pickup. The trip into the city is relatively uneventful.

"Walker numbers are down, just in the past couple of months," Michonne observes. "Migrated, I guess."

With every river crossing they can find blocked, Daryl hopes it keeps the bastards wandering anywhere but south. Eventually, King County will get a herd, but in the meantime, they just keep reinforcing the walls and relying on the river for protection.

The raid on the prosthetic lab Glenn remembered from his short stint as a student at Georgia Tech is almost too easy, and it makes Daryl's skin crawl. There are no walkers on the campus, not even trapped ones, and there are signs the place has been gone over for supplies. 

"Think maybe the Vatos got here before they got wiped out?" Glenn asks him. 

"Possible. Seems too neat to be them." Especially when the on campus clinic still has some medications Daryl knows they would need. It does look like the job was left unfinished. "It's a big city. Could be another group around. Maybe whoever killed the Vatos."

With that less than cheery thought, Daryl calls a halt to the day's raid. "Something ain't right. We got what we need, so let's get the hell out of here."

Everyone is on edge by then, so no one argues. The back of the SUV is stuffed full with enough materials and test prosthetics to last Merle a lifetime if their tinkerers can figure it out. They're almost to the southern turn when they see a group of walkers surrounding a pair of men trapped on a fire escape.

Before they can intervene, a damned Atlanta Police Department squad car pulls up. Two uniformed officers get out, drawing the walkers' attention before putting them down with quiet efficiency using silenced weapons.

"Never saw a single officer after Atlanta fell," Michonne mutters. "Wonder if they just stole the gear and uniforms."

"Wouldn't put it past assholes to do that," Merle remarks, leaning forward with a set of binoculars. They haven't been spotted yet, both vehicles cutting their engines off while the officers were still distracted.

The smaller of the two, a female from the carefully coiled bun at the nape of her neck, approaches the two on the fire escape. It doesn't take long for them to climb down, obviously trusting what is being said. The larger of the two refugees stumbles, causing the officer to back up swiftly.

"Shorter one is a kid not much older than Spitfire," Merle mumbles. "What the hell? This is fucking shit."

Daryl knows exactly what his brother is cussing about, and he's moving as fast as Merle, because he already knows that his brother is bailing into the situation the second he associated the kid with Sophia. He orders T-Dog to stay in the driver's seat, but isn't surprised when Michonne is right on his heels. Slipping behind the cover of a city bus, he slips closer, unseen, as Merle makes the cops split their attention between the boy they're pointing guns at and the loud and obnoxious redneck coming their way.

He just prays they really are cops, and not so far gone they will shoot first and ask questions later.

"Now see here, I thought officers were all serve and protect, not aiming guns at unarmed boys."

"You need to backoff, mister. You ain't got the first clue what is going on here." It's the male cop, and through a gap in vehicles, Daryl can see him. Big Latino, bald as a cueball. He has his gun pointed steady at Merle. Daryl aims his crossbow, estimating he can make the shot easily.

Behind him, Michonne slips by. "Hold fire as long as you can," she hisses. "Gonna get us a hostage."

The female cop is too distracted, trying to decide which threat she should cover. Like many would, she decides Merle is more dangerous than the kid and the obviously injured man. It's her downfall, because the second her gun is on Daryl's brother, Michonne has her pinned against her chest with a wicked buck knife to her throat.

"Call off your partner, sweetheart," he hears Michonne order. "Before you both die."

Both officers follow the instructions Michonne gives to eject their magazines and drop their service weapons. They end up cuffed with their own handcuffs, kneeling in the street. As Merle signals Daryl to leave cover, he sees both officers shudder to realize the group is even larger.

"Care to tell me why you were pointing a gun at a crying kid?" Merle demands, using the blade on his makeshift prosthetic to force the male cop to look at him. The blade knicks his skin, allowing a trickle of blood to ooze down his throat. "Or do we just leave you here for walker bait, Officer Lamson?"

"They said I had to go with them, but they were leaving my dad behind," the boy says, voice trembling.

"What's wrong with your dad?" Michonne asks, looking at the man now collapsed against an abandoned car.

"He's got asthma, and we lost his inhaler. He's not bit. Just can't breathe right."

"That an albuterol inhaler?" Michonne asks, and the kid nods, looking hopeful. She sighs and cues her radio to summon Glenn with an inhaler. They search for those because Karen's kid needs them, but she won't begrudge one being shared.

The Korean jogs up, box in hand, and passes it to the teenager. Once the boy fumbles the box open and is distracted by his father, they turn their attention back to the silent cops.

"Law is resorting to kidnapping these days," Merle scoffs. "And a boy at that. Guess pedophiles in uniform don't surprise me."

"That's fucking disgusting," the woman spits out. "We aren't pedophiles."

"Shepherd, shut up." 

The woman's jaw snaps shut at the order, but if looks could kill, Merle would be dead.

"Well, since that's the only explanation I can come up with for splitting up a family after saving them, I guess we're leaving you for the walkers. Take the boy and his daddy back to the truck, Glenn."

Neither refugee argues being escorted away on Merle's orders. They wait until Glenn's made room in the truck bed for his unexpected passengers before starting to follow.

"Wait!"

It's the older officer, Lamson, and he's watching them with a curious mixture of anxiety and hope. "Y'all got a community? Somewhere safe for civilians?"

Daryl can see the man scanning them all, finally overlooking Merle's roughness for how clean and neat they all are. It makes him glad he's bent to Carol's need to see him in clean and tidy clothing.

"We might. How many you talking?" Michonne asks.

Lamson swallows hard, looking at his partner. "Twelve. Three of them kids his age or younger."

Michonne starts questioning the man with all the skill of an experienced lawyer, leaving Daryl and Merle to stand guard. The story of abandonment and eventual corruption doesn't surprise Daryl at all. For all the decent cops in the world, the profession still attracts monsters who slip through the cracks. At least the eerily empty streets make more sense hearing the cops have been building barricades.

"You want us to help you take over this place?" Michonne asks at last.

Lamson shakes his head. "It's not sustainable in the long term. If you remove the bad apples, we're even less protected for staying in the city. Not asking for you to take us, just the civilians."

"And risk one of them leading your dirty cops back to us?" Merle spits on the ground, pacing. "Your very own trojan horse? You already admit to kidnapping, asshole, and keeping people as slaves."

That makes Lamson bow his head, seeming to despair. 

Shepherd speaks. "Can't ask you to risk dying for us. But saving the innocents? That's different. We can smuggle them out and tackle our problem officers once they're safe. Then our numbers don't matter anymore."

Michonne looks thoughtful, and Merle suspicious. Daryl studies the two kneeling and sighs. "Ain't so far gone we don't help, are we?"

That makes his fellow leader sigh. "Guess this right here shows we aren't. We send Glenn and Maggie home with the boy and his father. Then we help them out."

Daryl's not inclined to argue, and Merle just turns and walks to the vehicles to relay the information. Once the two cops are free of their own cuffs, Michonne lets them collect their weapons and magazines. 

"We do this the right way," she tells them. "You're sure of all but four cops being decent. Let's go clean house."

It's anticlimactic, in the end. With all the officers but the four falling easily in line, taking over Grady is damn near a cakewalk. Two of the officers, including Gorman, the worst offender, fall to their fellow cop's bullets. The lieutenant probably won't see the next day, her pelvis a mess from the frisky female cop aiming below the coverage of the vest the paranoid leader wore. The last cop sobs like the coward he is, before he's led off to be secured in his quarters.

In the end, Daryl breaks Merle's promise to be home by dark, but he half blames the short autumn days. Carol and Sophia are waiting, along with many anxious people. They can't house this many new people easily, but somehow, they manage in a flurry of offered couches and living room floors. Morning will be soon enough to sort out heat and utilities for the two remaining houses and to figure out how to house who won't fit in those.

Sophia scampered back across the road for the night, along with Beth, which leaves open rooms for half the cops that eventually bowed to the idea of following their wards out of the city. The other four, the youngest ones, are split between other houses. All surprisingly surrendered their guns temporarily.

Watching as Lamson tiredly sips peppermint tea and samples cookies from the ones Carol set out, Daryl thinks they're all burnt out from months of alertness. Their time at the helm meant watching for monsters both inside and out of their sanctuary. It's probably nice to let someone else take the reins now.

He takes a seat at the table. The other officers are all asleep, the two women sharing Sophia's room, and the third on Daryl's couch. Beth's room has a mother and daughter pair of wards who looked beyond grateful to be free of that place. Daryl doesn't like to think about the bruising on the mother's wrists. Carol will look after her, of that he's sure.

"It's like a damned miracle," the sergeant says, after Daryl's had time to finish off a cookie of his own. "Kept convincing myself we couldn't overcome a third of our number, and worse, we couldn't protect the wards with only eight of us. Now, it's all fixed in a single day by a chance encounter."

Daryl chuckles, shrugging when Lamson looks up at him. "Seems like that's the story of our lives now. Minor miracles that keep us going one more day."

"Yeah, well, this ain't a minor one. You can rest assured I won't forget it, and neither will my officers. Whatever your people need? We're going to be earning our keep."

There's a ring of truth in the words that makes Daryl relax around the man. Lamson put down the last of the dirty cops before they left Atlanta, no one wishing a man like that free to prey on others or to leave the lieutenant to suffer. The tattered remnants of the sergeant's pride are being slowly woven back together, and Daryl suspects their community just won a particularly avid loyalty for giving this man a chance to regain his lost honor.

Maybe instead of the bland Riverside they keep calling the place now, they should name the place 'Second Chances' for the amount of them it gives their people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to close...
> 
> The Grady folks will mostly drop into the background as just extra help/hands.


	19. Happy Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving dinner gives Daryl the opportunity to reflect on the positive changes in his life and family.

November 25, 2010

Daryl has attended an actual Thanksgiving meal so few times in his adult life that he has long forgotten what they're actually like. The pretty scenes on television always seemed like manufactured bullshit. Today, instead of a small meal, he's setting up rows of folding tables in the wide front yard of the big house in the curve that has all the gardens. It's the only one with enough flat ground to seat everyone.

It astounds him more than a little that weeks ago, he was struggling to keep eleven people alive. Today, they're feeding nearly fifty people a Thanksgiving dinner that's shaping up to look like one of those cheesy television scenes. At least the weather tipped warmer, so that everyone can eat together. Carol fretted over that, hating the uncertainty that the lack of a forecast brings. He thinks everyone would have been fine dividing up food among the houses if they had to.

Even as he leads a crew of the non-cooks, the food is starting to arrive. The distinctive bumble-buzz of Sophia's Bug trundles down the road, going slowly enough it seems like she's going to take an hour to arrive. When he goes to help her unload, he sees why. Nestled among blanket nests, the entire trunk is full of crock pots of vegetables: baked beans, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, glazed carrots, two full of dressing, and two different types of mashed potatoes.

As soon as the Bug's unloaded and backed away, the old GMC that Shane uses around the property edges up. Daryl can see the newcomers from the hospital looking a little wide eyed as the meats start being unloaded, followed by rolls and cornbread. Two roasted turkeys, two smoked turkeys, two hams, and a venison roast in yet another crockpot. He's starting to wonder just how many of those things they have around here.

The meat may be a big change for their newcomers, who have a week of eating wild game under their belts now. Even the turkey came from hunting efforts. Although after months of eating guinea pig, their standards are not what they once were. All of the Grady people are helping with setup, the former wards out of habit, and the officers out of a fairly healthy respect for the rules he and Michonne laid down to bring them back, which Aaron easily agreed with when they got back.

Sophia returns, this time with her mother and a dozen pies. The teenager slides a pair of pies on the table, buzzes by and surprises him with a brief hug, before emitting a piercing whistle Merle taught her. It alerts Daryl that everyone is here, finally. 

Sophia steps onto a chair. "Buffet style dinner, folks, kids table over there with the cartoon turkey tablecloth. Everyone else mingle. But first, Dr. Greene has a few words to bless the meal."

Dropping back to the ground, Sophia drifts back to him and her mother. As Hershel leads a prayer of thanks, Daryl ends up bookended by family in a way he never has been. As they're sent to eat, he looks for Merle, suddenly worried about his brother feeling left out.

But Merle seems content from where he's standing with Morgan and Andrea, all three conversing intently about something as the line forms for food. Both are busily carving meat, while Merle is finishing up dropping ladles into the vegetables. It makes him smile, because the contrast couldn't be more different than months ago, when Merle's issues got them separated.

"He's adapting well to that prosthetic," Carol remarks, taking his hand and leading him to the line. He's glad to see that she's not helping with the serving, considering how much she cooked.

The myoelectric hand still gives his brother a few fits with the learning curve, but it's such a welcome change from the plain leather or metal stump covers he knew bothered Merle. To see him using it openly in front of near strangers is promising that he'll keep with it. "He's always liked gadgets."

His little basement apartment certainly attests to that. All of the materials from the tech lab are in the basement workshop, but Merle appropriated the textbooks and other materials for himself to start out with. More interesting is how many times Daryl's seen Glenn venture up specifically to help out with the reading and tinkering. Merle's racist issues seem to be gone the way of his addiction.

Once their plates are loaded, Daryl makes his way to sit with 'his' group out of habit. They aren't clustered together anymore, not with everyone scattered into separate houses, but somehow the sense of obligation that came from his reluctant leadership still lingers. Surprisingly, Merle joins them, with he and Rick exchanging a careful nod that makes Daryl think he's missed some resolution between them. Only Beth isn't at the table, although she does stop by for hugs to her family, including him and Carol, on the way to the kids' table with a smirk. As long as no adult treats her like a kid to be sheltered, she seems quite happy to hang out with the younger teenagers and kids.

That kids table provides a good compromise for the three kids with split families. Beth, Sophia, and Carl seem to be getting all the kids settled in here well, with only Aaron's infant daughter not sitting with them. Sophia has Andre in her lap, carrying on a conversation with one of the Grady kids in between feeding herself and the toddler.

"You're a little distracted," Hershel comments, smiling warmly when Daryl looks back at him.

Willing himself not to blush, Daryl gestures toward the kids. "Seeing a pattern of future leadership, I guess."

That gets the other adults to check out the kids table. The four new kids are paired off with three Daryl was observing. Carl is sitting between two Grady kids, some intense discussion going on that seems to be about hunting or shooting, based on the pantomime. The youngest is next to Sophia, being casually looked after the same was as Andre. Noah, although not really a Grady kid, is watching Beth with such a soppy expression that Daryl expects to see cartoon hearts floating around.

"Give it a month, and anyone new would never be able to tell which kids came here first versus later," Lori says, looking fondly at Carl. "They adapt so fast.

"I hope there's no new people anytime soon. We're already jamming in a bit," Maggie contributes.

Hershel frowns at his daughter before Daryl can. "The kindly thing to do is to keep taking in decent people, Maggie. If that means slightly crowded living quarters, so be it. It is not like you've been asked to give up private space, and our new roommates are nice ladies."

Maggie dips her head, blushing as she concentrates on her food, accepting the chastisement gracefully. As adaptable as she always seemed before, it still astonishes Daryl that she's the biggest naysayer next to Rick. The thought draws his attention to the former deputy, especially considering the screaming episode Sophia unleashed last week.

Rick seems distracted, but happily so. It isn't Lori he's focused on, but Carl, and he's smiling. The formal separation of the Grimes adults hasn't phased the boy, and Daryl imagines that is a major relief for a father's concerns. Hell, Sophia's easy acceptance of him still baffles Daryl, but he's grateful. It could have been so much uglier, if she'd decided he was an intruder.

There's a childish part of him that is grateful for the girl's close relationship with Michonne leading her to being a cheerleader of the woman's relationship with Shane. Daryl's seen too many family dramas surrounding a child wanting her parents together, and there's no questioning the father-daughter relationship she has with Shane. He loves Carol, and she loves him, but if there had been a choice to be made, he knows he would be a single man again by his and Carol's own choice if Sophia had taken an irreversible dislike to him. 

That thought leads him to slip an arm across Carol's shoulders, belly full and mind happy. He rubs a thumb against her shoulder, smiling when she turns with one of those bright smiles of hers at the casual affection. It's a learning process, touching others outside of necessity, but between Sophia, Beth, and Carol, he is getting the habit well instilled. Not gonna be striding up and hugging any of the others anytime soon, but his girls? Sure.

Carol leans in, smile sliding to sly grin as she whispers in his ear. "Wanna take a well earned nap with me in a bit?"

The inflection on nap tells him sleep is the second part of her agenda, so he grins and nods. Sneaking off in the middle of the day is not something they've managed before, not with the work demands both of them set for themselves. "Could skip the pie."

Their quiet planning has caught his brother's attention, and Daryl tenses, just a little, expecting Merle to make a scene like he once would have. But after a shit eating grin and a wink, Merle's attention returns to the conversation he's having with Hershel about contrasting Bible translations. Both facts are a bit jarring, but still make Daryl smile.

Carol does one better, leaning over to press a surprise kiss to Merle's scruffy cheek. The older man startles, looking back at them both. She just stands, gathering her disposal dishes and ruffles the short curls Merle sports now instead of the buzz cut popular in his hellraiser days.

His brother blinks a few times, before reaching out to slide Daryl's empty plate under his with a grin and nudge to the ribs that nearly pushes him out of his chair. Hint taken, Daryl follows Carol, taking her hand as they reach the road.

"I think he's lonely," Carol says, sounding lost in thought.

"Merle?" The idea of his brother being lonely is a new one for Daryl, but then again, he never understood his own loneliness until Carol was part of his daily life. "Maybe so."

Most of Merle's time is spent with the community's kids, followed by drifting to either Daryl or Michonne if the kids are occupied elsewhere. He regularly leads the runs outside the fences, bringing in the lion's share of supplies these days, missing hand or not. Since the man seems content, if not particularly happy, Daryl's just been glad about the stability and sobriety.

"The only grown women he spends time with are me and Michonne. Seems to be on purpose, but I can't put my finger on why. He's not shy, by any sense of the word," Carol muses.

Daryl thinks it over and sighs. "Most of the women here are too young, other than Andrea or Lori, maybe."

"He flirted with Andrea before. Crudely, but he did."

That makes him laugh. "He just wanted to piss her off because she was so snobby, Carol. Wouldn't have slept with her if she offered."

"Why's that? Because of her personality? Or because she was a lawyer?"

"Nah. She looks too much like Jewel's mama. Merle doesn't do blondes anymore."

"No blondes. Got it." 

Daryl arches a brow at her, and she gives him that mock innocent look of hers that tells him she's plotting something. Patting his arm, she just shrugs. "Don't worry. It's a thought for another day. Andrea wouldn't work anyway. She's sharing a room with Doc now."

Well, that explains why that house ended up with two of the Grady cops and a pair of the female wards, since Morgan said he and Duane would share space until they expanded housing. Andrea and the Doc make a lot of sense, he thinks. Both lost their family in traumatic fashions, and the man's laid back personality compliments Andrea's forceful one without him being a pushover.

They've reached the house, where privacy is a little iffy lately. It's not that anyone would broach their private bedroom, but it's not the same as before, with only family in the house. In the end, Beth and Sophia opted to share the corner room, leaving Beth's old room to the Grady mother and daughter pair. They're nice people, but relative strangers for now. The two cops stashed downstairs in the sewing room are surprisingly easier for Daryl to get to know.

But for the first time ever, they have the house entirely to themselves. He still locks the door behind them, leaning against the door for a minute and watching as Carol sits to unlace her boots. As much as he enjoys the part to come, sometimes just seeing the mundane bits of their life is equally appealing. 

Like the bed, for once unmade because she was up so early she didn't rope him into helping. The room is no longer the overly floral mess he and Sophia discovered. It still has a feminine touch, because Daryl's never owned a down comforter in his life, much less a plaid one with forest green, color coordinated sheets. Carol transformed the room to a comfortable balance of Daryl's discomfort for frills and her long denied love of creature comforts. He would probably sleep in a room full of pink ruffles to make her happy, but he's glad he doesn't have to test it.

"Awful lost in thought, Pookie."

Carol's teasing gets him moving, shedding his own boots quickly and claiming a kiss that tumbles them both to the mattress. Shedding clothes is no longer something to be wary of, even as her clever fingers slide across scarred skin. All the anxiety and shame of those marks is fading more and more each time she touches them. 

Being rolled to his back is not hiding anything, but because Carol gets a particular thrill out of being in control. With what stray brain power he has left, Daryl thinks any man who can't hand over the reins is missing out on the damned best part. She's gloriously beautiful above him, skin aglow with arousal, hands gripped to the headboard for balance and control.

It leaves him free to slide his own hands on an exploration of her body, from the curves of her hips to those perfect breasts. When she smiles down at him, flushing beautifully, Daryl realizes he's been voicing his thoughts. Encouraged, he keeps up a running commentary that would've made him crawl under a rock once upon a time, but instead, drives Carol crazy.

Later, when they're curled together, finally chilled enough to be entangled under the expensively soft sheets and dozing together, Daryl can't help but smile. Months of stress and frustration, searching for a girl most would have given up on, and this is his reward. A family happily spending time as leaders of the community outside, and a woman he never would have dreamed of loving in his life before curling her fingers against his… drawing them to her flat, flat belly...

And a Cheshire smile that tells him his family is about to get at least one person bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valleygirl, BetaDaughter claims this ending makes me an Evil Author. I told her you would agree.
> 
> For a story that began in a fit of pique because a rabidly pro-Rick reader on FFnet kept shouting about me writing pro-Shane stories, this took on a life of its own, didn't it? 😉
> 
> Although Daryl's POV is come to a happy end, and Shane's is close behind, never fear, our little Second Chance community will continue to chug along. Merle's about to face a determined, meddling batch of ladies... Which might be more intimidating than staying sober in the apocalypse.


End file.
